Trials and Tribulations
by DonJuana19
Summary: The first Deleted Scene/Extra following my story, "Passion for Patria." Enjolras and Lynette engage in a battle... of sentiments. Will be released in chapters because it turned out much longer than planned! Full description inside.
1. Chapter 1

_**NOTE TO MY WONDERFUL READERS:**__** THIS EXTRA WAS MEANT TO TAKE PLACE **_**BEFORE **_**THE NEXT ONE I'M RELEASING (AKA "MEET THE BEAUCHENE'S"); BUT DUE TO POOR PLANNING ON MY PART, THIS ONE IS COMING OUT FIRST. PLEASE KEEP THIS IN MIND; AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY THE FIRST E/DS FOR PASSION FOR PATRIA! ~DONJUANA**_

**Extra 1: Trials, Tribulations, and a Battle of Sentiments:**** "Many are stubborn in pursuit of the path they have chosen, few in pursuit of the goal." -Friedrich Nietzsche; ****"****Prejudice and passion and suspicion are more dangerous than the incitement of self-interest or the most stubborn adherence to real differences of opinion regarding rights."- Elihu Root****; "****Roused by the lash of his own stubborn tail our lion now will foreign foes assail."- John Dryden; ****"****The Self-Educated are marked by stubborn peculiarities."- Isaac Disraeli**

**When you have two dancing, ardent flames; it will never be long before they clash and burn uncontrollably… and it will be shorter still before they are abruptly doused, left to gaze in horror at the destruction they hath left. ~DonJuana **

Enjolras stepped out of the old boathouse, a smile etched into his face. He'd been without the thrilling adrenaline of a good, intellectual debate for a few months now; besides the good-natured, teasing ones he'd exchanged with Lynette. And as amusing as they were, it felt good to be back in organized meetings of lively outlooks. It also reminded him of his times with his brothers of the barricade—the ones he so deeply grieved, even now—and it provided him with great solace. He found comfort in his new friends' similarities to his late, and in the jovial aides-mémoires they constantly engendered.

He'd first met the newfound partisans of freedom while on an errand for Lynette; she'd had a terrible chest cold and was bored out of her mind just sitting around in their flat—not to mention irritated with her inability to do anything productive. So, he'd gone out to get her some medicine from their friend Madame Desmarias (bringing some candies for little Angelika), before hitting the streets for something to entertain her. During this search, he'd entered a tiny bakery, meaning to walk in, buy her some dark chocolates, and walk right out again. But after he'd purchased these favorable gifts, he'd picked up a rather interesting conversation taking place near the door.

"_Alright Chassé; down by the pier then?" _

"_Exactly. I'm glad to have you men there; I always love conversing and listening to the ideas of fresh, adroit minds." _

"_And we're glad to be there, my friend. It isn't every day we get to openly express our opinions of the vileness of the government with others." _

Enjolras's ears had perked up at this mention. There were others heatedly displeased with oppression?

At first he was a bit angry; if they truly had this mindset, why had they not come forward to assist Les Amis in battle but months before? But the longer he thought about it, the easier it was to decide that they had most likely not known about it. He then risked a peek at these unfamiliar, rebellious strangers; startled to see their creased, rather aged faces. He'd grown used to the image of spirited, robust young men when speaking of this passion of his, and these men looked to be in their middle ages at the youngest. As he curiously made this deduction, he hardly noticed that the three had stopped their whispered conversation to stare at him until he'd locked eyes with one of them. He blinked once and turned away, not wanting them to think he'd been eavesdropping… in disapproval, anyway. But it was too late; he'd already been realized. "You boy! Come here!" the second man to speak barked, glaring at Enjolras. Enjolras felt a slight heat rise to his cheeks as he nodded curtly and stepped toward them, though he cursed himself for doing so and pulled his shoulders back, assuming him confident, frontrunner persona. He looked the man who'd called him forward right in the eye, not daring to send them downcast as he was sure the elder wanted him to. After a few moments of seeing the boldness of this snooping emissary, the man inquired with slit eyes, "Were you just listening in to our conversation?"

"Indeed I was." Enjolras responded casually.

His adversary looked taken aback. What kind of game was he playing, admitting to his sly action up front? "And… what was it you heard?" he continued, regaining his guarded guise.

"That you three men, and perhaps others, are discussing the very things

I had a few months ago." Enjolras retorted with utmost composure. All three pairs of eyebrows shot up. "Oh?" The first man to speak questioned, leaning forward.

"Yes. Tell me gentlemen; have you happened to have heard of Les Amis de l'ABC?" Enjolras posed.

"No, that does not sound familiar." The man who'd until then remained silent said after a moment. He seemed to be the gentlest of the trio; for he'd remained questioning but not accusatory in expression the entire, tense conversation.

"Well a few months ago I devised and led a rebellion against the National Guard for the very purpose of earning freedom from oppression." Enjolras explained, trying not to let his pride in the statement shine forth.

"Really? And the results were?" The sympathetic man asked with caution. For the first time, Enjolras looked down. "Well, we showed them that we were a tougher opponent than primarily noted… but that's unfortunately all we had the chance to show them." All three men nodded in respectful remorse. "We're sorry to hear that." The kind man murmured.

"This is exactly why we keep our meetings inert and absolutely classified though, gentlemen;" the second man said gravely, "so that no duplicities or aggressive acts cause such an unnecessarily vehement chain reaction."

"Chassé," the benign man hissed, "that is a rather insensitive statement."

Enjolras couldn't help it; he laughed aloud. It was a dictation so akin to one that would come from Jean-Prouvaire's lips that he didn't know whether to feel frightened, depressed, or ecstatic. Those facing him eyed him curiously. "Are you… quite well, Monsieur?" the first to speak asked warily.

"Oh yes, forgive me. It's just… your conscientiousness of my sentiments reminded me of one of my deceased friends. He was quite the poet, you see." Enjolras elucidated.

"Ah. And he was… one of those killed in the battle?" the benevolent one inquired with a sad sort of look in his eye. Enjolras simply nodded in return. The others nodded, but said nothing more of the subject. A period of silence set in then, the group staring uncomfortably at each other. But it was abruptly broken by the second man saying, "Forgive me Monsieur, but I have one last question. How is it we know you're telling the truth? Wouldn't an uprising of this magnitude be known throughout all of France?"

"Well, it was not as vast as you would think. But go out onto these very streets right now and ask the citizens about it, and each and every one will get a mix of guilt, pity, and reverence in their eyes." Enjolras responded austerely. He was no longer questioned after that, for all knew that such a claim could not be countered. He'd been formally introduced to the men, the benevolent being Beaupré, the second to speak and seemingly the leader Chassé, and the last being Gorneau. They'd told him where they'd been meeting, and he'd walked out of the bakery with a certain swing to his step. He was back.

As he reminisced over this first meeting in his head, his mind jumped to the notions and opinions they'd just exchanged. They'd been fascinating; most views and points in contradiction of the bureaucrats that he'd never thought of before. His new acquaintances had all acquired full educations in their lives, as apposed to the intelligent but shifty and varying erudition of the students. It was glorious being a part of their debates; he was feeling that intoxicating electrical charge he'd once felt for his revolt once more.

But in all truth, that was not all he was feeling. He was a tad bit uneasy as well. He knew how easily these things could get out of hand, even if they did start out little more than docile discussions. He was no longer the leader, no longer in control of the others' actions. If someone made a wrong move… someone did something reckless…

It would be death for them all, especially so soon after another revulsion.

He shook away the unnerving thought. He mustn't think that way. Chassé seemed like a perfectly responsible leader, and he had to trust that his age and experience would keep everything tranquil. As he walked down the quiet street, he tried to clear his head, looking up at the sky. It was inky, black, and cloudy, and upon resting his gaze upon it, he remembered Lynette. What time had he told her he should be home by?

_Merde. _

He began jogging up the street, everything else forgotten besides the cul-à fouetter he was going to receive should he be late, causing Lynette to panic. Because now, after all they'd been through, if she found out her panic had been for nothing, she grew livid.

With this mindset and quickened pace, he came upon his tenement in no time. He rushed up the stairs, taking a moment to slow his accelerated breathing before putting the key in the lock and forcing himself to calmly and slowly open the door. He stepped inside in this same way, holding back a sigh of relief when he saw Lynette serenely sitting in one of the chairs at the table, only looking up when he walked in.

"Good evening, Enjolras." she said, and he had to bite back a laugh at the prim tone of her voice. She was never this serious when he returned home; she must've been toying with him. "Why so stiff, Netta?" he joked teasingly, grinning and leaning up against the door.

"It is late. I'm tired." She replied simply, expression unchanged.

"You didn't have to wait up for me, you know." He said, smiling softly at her.

"I know. I wanted to." She responded with the same, impartial expression. His grin widened and he walked over to her, pulling her up out of her seat and snaking his arms around her waist. "I appreciate that." He whispered, leaning in closer. Suddenly, she pulled away, leaving him slightly unbalanced and more than so befuddled. Something was wrong; the tension was emanating from her like candlelight. "What's wrong?" he asked concernedly.

"Aren't you going to tell me where you were?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow accusingly. He faltered, heart rate quickening. Is that what this was about? "Just running a few errands." He lied swiftly, and the very effortlessness of it frightened him.

"So late at night? Were they really that crucial?" she asked, cocking her head. Her eyes bore into him, and as she stared her temper began to bubble. Why was he evading the truth?

"I wouldn't call them crucial…" Enjolras began, trying desperately to stall. But she cut him off.

"Then what manner were they of?"

By now it was obvious to him that she knew _something_, and his face fell slightly from the smile he'd so willingly put on but minutes before. "That doesn't matter." He muttered, trying to keep his tone from becoming a subtle declaration of his guilt.

"Yes it d—"

"I'm here now, am I not? _That's _all that matters." He cut her off, forcing a smile.

"I understand that. I am only inquiring as to where it was you were that kept me waiting so long." Lynette continued, eyebrows arched, refusing to back down. So like her.

He quickly scoured his mind for an excuse, desperately hoping he'd come up with something substantial enough that even _she_ found it believable. He couldn't worry her, especially when there was nothing to worry _about. _"I went to the library. I was scanning their new titles for some fresh reading material for you and I." He huffed, hiding his unease with mock-exasperation. Lynette could no longer take it. He was lying to her! Could he not _tell_ that she knew where it was he'd really been by the look on her face, her pressing questions? "Why do you insist on lying to me?" she burst, eyes flashing in anger. Enjolras sighed. It had been a good effort, but there was no getting past her. "Alright, you caught me. I wasn't at the library." He said sheepishly, suddenly wishing in the midst of his defeat that he had not lied in the first place. Why would she have any reason to shout at something they both held so highly?

When he glanced back up at her, her eyes were slit and her jaw tight. "And must I really ask where you _truly_ were? How many men are there this time? How far into strategies are you?" she hissed coldly. He exhaled, saying, "It isn't like that. We're not planning a battle."

"Perhaps not, but it won't stay that way for long. Face it, Enjolras. Whenever you get started with something like this, you will stop at nothing to see it to the end!" she exclaimed, teeth clenched.

"Yes, I do care for it. But you shouldn't worry, Lynette. There's nothing inciting about this." He said evenly, hoping a calm approach to her lashing temper would appease her as well.

"_Nothing _like this ever goes without a spark. I'm just as experienced as you are with these rebellious acts, remember?" she growled, emphasizing the first word. Despite his efforts to remain completely neutral, his fingers clenched for but a moment as irritation set in. "Perhaps, but this one is different. This one is passive. There's no need to get worked up." he grimaced.

"No need to get worked up? Oh no, it's just my fiancé going out and risking his neck in his _second_ act of rebellion!" she snapped, sarcasm coating her words so amply it practically stung. Enjolras threw out his hands in vexation. "I can't _believe_ you're snapping at me. There's no risk, Lynette, because the meetings are _peaceful_. I'm just trying to do _something_ for my country!" he retorted, voice rising slightly.

"Well if that _something_ is going to land you in prison—"

"It won't."

"That's not true! They're de novo on the lookout for rebels, Enjolras, because you _just_ led another revolution! You're going to get caught and they're going to take you away from me!" her voice broke during this bellowed dictation, and for the first time since this little dispute began, he saw something other than anger on her face. Terror.

But he glimpsed it too late to feel guilty for the statement already flooding out of his mouth. "What about you? What ever happened to _your_ undying love for France? Whatever happened to that unquenchable passion for justice you claimed to hold in your heart?"

The fear disappeared, eyes once again narrowing to slits. "What are you saying?" she asked coolly.

"I'm saying, Lynette, that the woman I fell in love with would not be sitting here reprimanding me for something we both so strongly believe in." he replied, mirroring her tenseness, voicing his aforementioned thought. There was a moment of silence between them, the shock plastered all over her face too evident to even _attempt_ to hide. But after a moment, she responded in a low but still quite harsh voice, "Oh… so now I am no longer the woman you love?"

Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose, too irritated to do anything else. "You know that's not what I meant. I simply—"

"Oh, do I? Because that's certainly what it sounded like, Enjolras!" she spat, cutting him off. That brought him over the edge. She hadn't let him finish one sentence this entire time, and he was _not_ going to put up with it. "Damn it, Lynette! _Let me finish_!" he shouted, teeth grit and eyes flashing dangerously; like burning embers. Lynette was stunned into silence, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. He took advantage of the silent moment he'd gained, saying, "I simply meant that I was shocked that you were so against the very thing we put before even our _lives_ but months ago. Why is that?"

His question seemed to snap her out of her shock, because subsequent to it her stare froze over once again. "Because Fate steered me in another direction. Because I have been faced with death. Because though I long for the liberation of the people, I know that they have reached a point of apathy that prevents them from fighting against their bondages; and that we cannot lift them up if they won't stretch out their hand. Need I go on?"

Enjolras shook his head in a nearly disgusted belief. "I cannot _believe_ what I'm hearing. You're giving up? Surrendering to oppression and misery?"

"Have you so soon forgotten the last time? Forgotten the men who _died_ because of you?" she yelled suddenly, venom dripping from her tone. Now it was Enjolras's turn to fall silent in incredulity as old wounds resurfaced and throbbed. Had she really just pulled that one out? Had she truly just stooped so low? He was now physically trembling in anger and hurt, and he whispered, "They gave their lives heroically and I'd have gladly done the same. It was for Patria."

"And what about me? What about the words you so tenderly whispered in my ear barely a _month _ago? I am your new Patria, eh? I wonder how many other things you've told me were as empty." She glared, the severity she was so luridly displaying disguising the pain she felt at the thought. She'd taken those words to heart… she never dreamed they could turn out false.

"_My _words are empty? What about you? You, with your speeches and rallies, which all halt and scatter in fear when the chance finally comes to take action!" Enjolras barked angrily.

"I _did_ take action! I took action the second I joined Les Amis! I knew nothing of you and your men, yet I joined your rankings without hesitation! How's _that _for a service to your country?" she screamed, suddenly jolting forward so that her face was right up in front of his. He could practically feel the irate heat rising off of her, as if the fire inside of her was swelling and burning uncontrollably. Abruptly, a new thought emerged alongside the rage bubbling up inside Enjolras, and he straightened, trying to make space between them, but not daring to step back, lest it be a sign of submission. He glared down at her coldly from his full height, shaking his head in malice, "You are such a hypocrite. You say you love Patria, then sit back and do nothing when she is in a time of most desperate need. I hope you realize that makes you no better than those citizens who abandoned us."

He thought he saw her eyes glitter with despondency, but he must have been imagining it; for the next second, all that was left was pure fury. She kept opening her mouth, then closing it again; as if she could not come up with a response spiteful enough to counter his rash statement. He'd just affronted her talent for speech, one of the most petulant subjects he could've dared mention. And she was so irate that she felt she could have breathed fire. Finally, after a minute or two of this tacit feeling of resentment and duplicity, she whispered, "I do hope you'll forgive me, _Monsieur, _for worrying for a man who has already evaded a close death once, since I know that another such prevarication is about a thousand to one. But calling me a hypocrite for that action is the most impertinent thing you could have said to me. But, _then again_, so is your doubting my passion for Patria."

"Your words are empty and meaningless without actions to accompany them," Enjolras said sharply, quite past the point of watching his tongue. No sooner had the words left his lips, the anger left her face completely, shock and a hint of despair the only things left in her countenance. She looked down at nothing in particular for a moment, eyes glazing over. "_Meaningless,"_' She breathed, the weak utterance quavering. When she looked up again; angry, horrified tears were so clearly residing in her oceanic eyes that there was absolutely no hiding them. She was silent, but from her expression of complete, tortured disbelief, he knew that she had been wounded so deeply by his words that she could not even be livid anymore. The anguished look on her radiant face made him waver in his ire, and he began thinking over the things he'd just said. He'd just been so boiling… he could hardly even remember. It was as if he'd completely lost himself in the duration of the dispute.

She cut off his train of thought, taking in a shuddering breath before looking him in the eyes and articulating, "I think… I think we moved too quickly with this relationship."

That moment cleared whatever was left of the irritation in his encumbered head. That moment made him realize exactly what it was he'd just said to her. That moment completely wiped away all of the seething rage that had just augmented inside of him and made him see that he had just delivered a blow so severe, it had brought her to this. And in that moment, he could feel the fuming flush leave his face as he paled. What had he done?

"No Lynette, please. I'm sorry."

She snorted, but it cracked pathetically, revealing that not even her masterful sarcasm could mask her true feelings. And even had it, they were written all over her face. "It's a bit late for that." She muttered, turning her back to him.

"No, Lynette! Please, I was just frustrated! I didn't mean it!" he pleaded, reaching for her. But, as if sensing him, she instantly stepped just out of reach. "No. You weren't _just _frustrated; those words did have substance behind them. Because they had to have begun as a thought, however fleeting, before finally finding the chance to be voiced." She retorted back, voice heavy laden with dejection and perfidy.

"No! Lynette, you must know how your words set me aflame! The statement was born in an inferno of wrath, nothing more." He implored desperately, trying to stop her slight inching towards the door. She laughed weakly, but it did not reach her eyes and ended in a choked sob. "Perhaps it was, or perhaps this latter was simply verbalized so that you would stop fighting me. We will never know without listening to your direct thoughts; something impossible to all but One. That's not my point. My point is that we've only known each other for a few months, and we're planning to be married? Living together when trust is not present?"

"Of course we have trust! It was one of the first things we _did _establish!" Enjolras reminded hopefully.

"Then why could you not even tell me where it was you were? Why did you go as far as to _lie_ to me?" she whispered. His gaping mouth held no response for a moment, and his heart lurched as he watched her walk over to one of the dressers and grab her bag. "I'm just going to leave." She murmured, voice quaking dangerously. He watched her in a sort of haze for a few moments as she packed up the majority of her things, incredulous to the point of near denial that she was really, truly leaving him. How could this be happening?

_And why was he standing here like an idiot, letting it?_

As she finished and began towards the door, he caught her by the forearms, forcing her to look him in the eyes. His own started to welled up as he looked at her doleful, wretched expression, and he just barely managed, "Please. _Please_ don't do this. I love you!" she pulled herself away, looking down. "Then why would you say that? Why would you dare cross one of the most sensitive lines I've drawn?" she responded, voice rising like that of a child. A lump of shame formed in his throat, preventing him from answering. And even if his gullet had been clear, he was not sure he could have found the words.

She closed her eyes as he fell silent, saying, "That's right. Perhaps… with time I'll… just, goodbye, Enjolras." And then, a moment later, she was gone; leaving him standing there, limp and numb, unaware of anything other than the roaring pain emanating where his heart should be, and the empty air before him where she'd once stood.

**A/N:**** Hello, my lovely readers! Here it is; the first chapter to the first Extra for Passion for Patria! **

**What's this? **_**Chapters**_** you say? **

**Yes. I started this one… then just kept writing, and writing, and writing. And it turned out around ninety pages! :O So, it will be released in chapters. **

**Another note: music immensely inspires my writing, and one of my favorite bands is the Script. And as I was listening to some of their songs, I realized that almost every one reflected Enjy and Netta's situation for this story. Just some food for thought! X) **

**Uh oh… this doesn't look good. In fact, this looks as if this is going to be a very angsty Extra. I'm warning you now, dear readers. **

**I hope this is everything y'all expect! R&R and tell me your thoughts, critiques, and even just about your day! I just adore hearing from you all so much! ~DonJuana**


	2. Chapter 2

~o~0~o~

_Sometimes tears say all there is to say  
Sometime your first scars won't ever fade  
Tryin' to break my heart  
Well it's broke…  
_

~o~0~o~

She barely made it down the street before Lynette sank to her knees, body racked with sobs. She could hardly comprehend it; he'd said that he loved her. He'd said that all of his words were ever sincere. Why then, had he countered every compliment he'd ever "sincerely" given her, and all in one, explosive moment?

Tears rolled down her cheeks, leaving cold, wet trails behind them. They nearly froze there, dripping off her chin; for the cool, autumn chill had grown even more frigid as the sun went down. But she hardly noticed; barely felt the numb tingling in her fingers as they tautly clutched her bag. All her focus was on the thoughts that were now swirling around in her head as swiftly and painfully as if they had been wasps.

What had just taken place? How had it spiraled out of control so quickly? At first, she'd thought that perhaps she was being a little too harsh on _him, _but then it had built… and built… and the things he'd said…

Fresh tears formed at just the thought of them. She'd thought she'd finally found someone who understood and respected her… a best friend… a lifelong companion. And yet, the flame had flickered out. He'd turned out just like all the others in her life; scorning and austere.

How could she have been so naïve? How could she have not seen that this blissful happiness was not reality? How could she have gone from a fearless, resilient, untouchable woman who always guarded her heart to a love-sick, silly girl who refused to see the obvious, genuine facts right in front of her? How had he so easily changed her?

She didn't have to answer herself. He was intelligent, kind, passionate, and not to mention flawlessly handsome. His words were nearly as enchanting as hers, and they had easily charmed their way into her heart.

But now they had done the exact opposite, wounding her deeper than any knife, and all other factors were forgotten as the guise of perfection surrounding him cleared, revealing what must have been there all along.

And yet his kiss… something that could not be so easily forgotten, always emptied her mind of all sense, and she remembered how each time he kissed her— whether it be soft and sweet or deep and heated— was like the first; like falling in love all over again. One kiss from him, and her anger would have completely evaporated. All of this would have been behind them by then.

Suddenly, her temper flared again. She hated the power his kiss had over her, she hated the tears staining her cheeks with their pathetic mortality, and… most of all… she hated herself for leaving. For turning away when he'd practically begged her otherwise. For walking out and leaving him with that horrified, tortured expression. Had he not apologized, told her he loved her still?

And… could she believe it? She couldn't think that she could, not after all that had been said. How could she know what to believe, now that there had been so many contradictory statements made in just the last hour? She couldn't. She didn't. For now, her head had returned from its long, dreamy holiday; putting her heart under lock and key once more. She wasn't going back, not when she no longer knew what was truth and what was lies. Not when her thoughts were so jumbled together that her head was physically pounding. She didn't know where she was going to go now, all she knew was that she could not go back, could not let her renovated walls cave when some of his words had nearly _exactly_ mirrored the ones constantly repeated to her by nearly all she met; most of all her family. Those words had not only brought back buried, excruciating memories; but had created a whole new set of wounds… even deeper than the last, simply because they came from him. And now he was simply another face in the crowd; another person who looked down upon her. And, as much as it killed her, she got up off the ground, squared her shoulders, and kept walking.

~o~0~o~

_Tryin' to hang me high  
Well I'm choked…  
Want to rain on me  
Well I'm soaked  
Soaked to the skin_

It's the end where I begin…

~o~0~o~

**A/N:**** Look! The Script! What a surprise! XD**

**Anyway, here's the next chapter. Short and sweet, Lynette's POV. Not all the updates for this are going to be this fast, but I figured I'd release chapters a few days in a row to get this thing up off the ground. (But I do need time to write the next DS/E, mind you! ;) **

**Hope you like! R&R, my good lovers of fanfiction! Let me know if there's anything I can do to improve! ~DonJuana**


	3. Chapter 3

Enjolras didn't know how long he stood; just stood. It could have been minutes, hours, or weeks for all the difference it made. All he knew was that she was gone, he had pushed her out, and that, in all likelihood; she was not coming back anytime soon. Perhaps never. She could be gone for good.

He looked up and realized he'd walked over to the table; the sensation that had snapped him out of his haze being his sinking down in one of the chairs. He was hardly breathing, just too tense from his confusion, incredulity, and inner conflict to spend valuable effort in doing so. Now that she'd walked out, a miniscule, barely noticeable bit of annoyance had returned, settling itself in the furthermost part of his mind. Insignificant, stifled, and hardly existent… but there. Certainly there.

She'd brought up his friends… his Achilles' heel… something that had weakened him with so much grief that it took the gentlest of breezes to topple the corroded structure that had once been his confidence. She knew that every time they were mentioned, every time they walked past the ABC, every time they saw Marius; he couldn't help but wince for the pain in his chest… yet she had used them as weapons in the battle, as platforms to raise her up to look down upon him from the triumphant height she'd acquired. Why should guilt strike him so readily when he'd simple snapped back in retaliation just as harshly? Given her a taste of a blow to that which is most vulnerable?

He put his head in his hands, anger and dread and confusion and sorrow swirling around in his mind like an ocean's whirlpool. A hurricane of sentiments, forcing him to take cover in the meager shelter provided between his fingers. He didn't know what to feel; livid at her words? Dismayed that he'd hurt her? Desperate that she return?

There was a longing within him, reflecting the latter. They were both so stubborn, so strong-willed. They were bound to clash, bound to bicker; but that didn't mean he loved her any less. That didn't mean she'd had to leave.

Abruptly he slammed his fist onto the table, then stood up and yelled; kicking the chair and sending it sailing forward a few feet before it toppled and fell. He turned and rested his elbows on the wall, fingers latching and tangling into the roots of his hair. How had he let things go as far as they had? How had he let the situation spiral out of control so quickly?

As much as what was left of the prideful part of him hated it, she'd been right about one thing. If only he'd been truthful… perhaps maybe then this would have all been resolved by now. Perhaps then she would've presently been safe and warm in his arms instead of wandering the streets in the cold.

And yet… it still didn't make sense. Why had she been so angry with him for attending the meetings of a voluble, freedom-seeking group? Was she not just as adamant towards letting herself be heard as he was? No, she was even _more_ so, considering— until recently— she'd never been _allowed_ to be heard.

So why had she blown up at him? Why had she gainsaid what she'd told him to be her solid beliefs?

_Fear…_ a little voice whispered to him. _Did she not say she was simply terrified for you?_

Yet still… she had let fear for him twist her principles? Would he have done the same? Was he not frightened for her now; alone in the city streets, engulfed in shadows?

The questions flitting violently about in his head were unceasingly harsh, and he walked over to his bed; trying to rid himself of the nasty images of her in the solitary darkness. She'd always been fiercely independent; there was no doubt she could take care of herself. And yet… he wished she didn't have to. Wished he could scratch out spoken words as easily as written ones. Wished she were here with him.

He lay down, kicking off his shoes and rolling over to face the window; but immediately wishing he hadn't. The bed felt… bigger, lonelier, more cold and unwelcoming without her. He found himself remembering the nights when he'd taken her in his arms and held her there, simply for the sake of feeling her warm presence, and wished he could sit up… retreat to an armchair… anything but have to lie here alone with so many stirred memories. But their heated argument had taken much out of him; his muddled head exhausted from feeling so much at once. At the mere thought of the fight, flashes of it returned; causing the storm of anger, despair, regret, and pain to begin again. His eyelids drooped despite this roaring eddy; but the silent sorrow surrounding him cut him sharper than a knife. Perhaps… perhaps sleep would clear his mind… only, of course, until morning came and he woke to find himself the flat's only occupant once more.

Enjolras had always had an interesting relationship with sleep; he'd found it tedious and irritatingly necessary most of the time, but every once in a while, he'd find solace in its tranquil embrace; as it was a flaccid, deadened, serene escape from the world of desolation, hopelessness, and disparity he lived in. There was no world but that gossamer land of the dreamer, and— as annoyed as he sometimes found himself for having to put down his stratagems and concepts—he had to admit that this subconscious state of mind was much better than the current state of the real universe.

Even more so today, when he was falling asleep to the solitude she'd left.

~o~0~o~

_If you're standing with your suitcase  
But you can't step on the train  
Everything's the way that you left it I still haven't slept yet_

And if you're covering your face now  
But you just can't hide the pain  
Still setting two plates on the counter but eating without you

If the truth is you're a liar  
When you say that you're okay  
I'm sleeping on your side of the bed going out of my head now…

~o~0~o~

**A/N:**** Here's the next installment! And yes, "Guest" who reviewed early this morning; it is Enjolras's POV. ;) **

**And it seems the regrets are beginning to roll in… but what will that mean? Will he be too stubborn to go get her back? Will **_**she**_** be too stubborn to forgive him? We'll just have to see…**

**And on another note; see what I mean about those lyrics being absolutely PERFECT for this story? Every song I went through had at least one lyric that fit whatever was going on in the story like a glove! Especially the last line in this one… poor Enjy… :( **

**R your kind words mean so much to me that it does wonders for the course of my day! :) ~DonJuana**


	4. Chapter 4

Lynette could practically hear Virginie sneering in her self-allotted victory; "_Ah, back again, I see? And where's that pretty rebel lover of yours? Ha! I knew it wouldn't last to see the year's end. Why would a useless little putain like you ever be able to hold onto a lasting relationship?" _But she had nowhere else to go, unless she wanted to sleep in an alley in the autumn cold. She would have to put up with her aunt's malicious remarks; no matter how much they felt like a rusty blade in her already open and fresh wound.

She took a deep breath and knocked on the door, instinctively wincing as it flew open. But… it was not her abusive aunt, as it had been during her last visit. It was her mother.

"Lynette?" she whispered, eyes widening at the sight of her daughter.

Lynette still wasn't sure if she'd fully forgiven her mother for standing by whilst her sister left them, her father was slowly forgotten, and— most of all—for simply watching in silence as her aunt tore apart her dreams and confidence; but, in that moment, all of the latter was forgotten. She flew into her mother's arms, bursting into tears; as if retrogressing back to the days when she was nothing but an innocent, susceptible child who sat in her mother's lap and cried. She just needed comfort… needed to be held… needed someone to take the place of the man she'd just walked out on. She didn't care if Virginie saw her looking so pathetically vulnerable; she just needed the solace of someone's arms around her.

"Oh Netta…" her mother whispered, voice bewildered but quavering. That was all she said, nothing more. Confused as she was, she didn't ask what happened to send her sobbing back to the place that had always been one of her last resort refuges. There is something in mothers—some hidden sense that no other being possesses—that instinctively knows when to speak and when to dictate with nothing but silent actions.

Her mother led her over to the family divan, sitting her down and leaning her up against her chest. Abruptly, the distraught pair heard a, "Mama? Who's—" and Lynette's younger brother Henry walked through the door, smiling lopsidedly as always. But when he saw them, he stopped in his tracks; face falling and grin washed away by a wave of confusion, concern, and even a slight hint of fear. "Lynette?" he inquired, brow furrowing as he took in her tearstained cheeks.

"Hey, Ree." Lynette replied weakly, trying to hide her grief with a simulated smile.

"What happened?" Henry asked worriedly, eyes darting between she and their mother.

"Henry…" the latter said gently, then Lynette felt her slowly shaking her head.

"Oh. Alright." Henry replied, quickly catching on. "I think I have some… uh… chores to get done anyway."

"Can I at least have a hug first?" Lynette asked with a trembling smile.

"Of course, big sister." Henry grinned back, opening up his arms as she stood. As she stood on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his tall, lean shoulders, she whispered, "Chores in the middle of the night?"

"You know I've always been a terrible liar under pressure. Mama's expression told me it was a bad time. You'll come talk to me later, though?"

"Perhaps after a good night's sleep. Is our _dear_ aunt in?"

"Have you heard from her yet? No, you're safe for now."

They broke apart, and Lynette could have cried out in relief. Her stay was going to be much more bearable if she wasn't constantly being reminded of the reason she'd come. With a final nod to their mother and a murmured goodnight, he retreated back into his room, leaving Lynette and her mother alone in the sitting room. Her mother caught her eye, nearly reflecting Lynette's own sorrow in her face. "Do you… want to talk about it?" she whispered, tucking a wet, clumpy strand of Lynette's hair behind her ear.

"I… no… but… Enjolras." Lynette stammered with a gasp, feeling her throat swell. Her mother's face fell, eyes beginning to glitter. "Oh baby… my Netta…" she muttered unsteadily, pulling her daughter back into an enveloping hug. "No wound is deeper than that of a broken heart." she continued, gently stroking Lynette's head. Lynette couldn't fight it; her eyes welled up once more. "It just… and I… oh, Mama!" she blubbered, unable to speak the words that were causing her so much agony. One of Paris' greatest speakers had lost her idioms and spirit.

They sat like this in a tearful silence until the first remnants of the sun peeked temperately through the window. They'd both composed themselves from streams of tears to mere sniffs; and Lynette's eyes were so bloated, so swelled, so simply exhausted; that she could hardly keeps them open. But she'd had a lingering thought; a single thing she needed to express and relate before she slipped into unconsciousness. "Mama? How did you feel when Papa… died?" she asked quietly, wording her question carefully, as to not stir up even more pain and tears. Her mother was silent for a moment, but then answered, with surprising levelness in tone, "Much like this. I didn't show it in front of you kids, but most nights I'd cry myself hoarse and weak. I loved him very much, Netta."

Lynette felt the guilt rising inside of her before any other emotion could strike. One of the other reasons she'd blown up at her mother in the past was the complete indifference she showed to nearly every situation. Her father's death, her sister's leaving, her aunt's taunts. All of these she'd simply fought to stay strong for them, the exact _opposite_ of the apathy Lynette had often rather luridly accused her of in the past. Well… all except the last. But she resolved to push those still bitter thoughts to the back of her mind, focusing on her newfound discovery of her mother's strength.

"I can relate." she attempted to say sarcastically, but it ended up breaking contemptibly.

"I know you can, dear. I'm just sorry you have to." her mother sighed somberly.

"Thanks, Mama." Lynette mumbled, burrowing into her mother's floral-scented dress.

"Why don't you go get some sleep, dear? You look exhausted." her mater said as if reading her mind, smiling weakly. Lynette nodded, relief washing over her at the idea. You didn't have to think about the day's happenings—or anything, for that matter—once you were asleep. "Alright. Goodnight." Lynette replied, getting up. But then she turned back, surprising her mother with one last hug. "And thank you." she whispered.

"You're welcome, darling." her mother responded, sending her off.

Lynette walked into her old bedroom, collapsing onto the bed and exhaling deeply. She didn't bother changing, practically to the point where merely standing up was impossible. But unfortunately—with the numbness of complete exhaustion, not only was she deemed paralyzed, but left alone with her thoughts with no way of distracting herself. Had she truly just… left? The thought—which was only now _really_ dawning on her—was absolutely terrifying. And yet… how could she have stayed when each word he'd said did worse damage than a dagger in her side?

Tears welled up in her already swollen eyes, but she fought them furiously; irate at herself for letting tears be shed for the man who'd readily fired such abusive dictations at her. Yet when she imagined his face, all she could see was the image of it contorted in horror; imploring her forgiveness. Whimpering like a lost child. His final plea of, "_I love you!"_ And that's what caused her tears to arise; the knowing that she'd been cruel enough to leave him in such a pitiful, agonized state.

'_Stop that!'_ she scolded herself in her head, _'He caused you just as much pain with those dreadful statements. Don't pity him after all that's happened tonight.'_

And yet, as much as her prudent self argued, she did.

And to this perpetual debate did she restlessly fall asleep.

~o~0~o~

_And if you're out there trying to move on  
But something pulls you back again  
I'm sitting here trying to persuade you like you're in the same room…_

~o~0~o~

**A/N: **** Oh mah goodness… Lynette's gone home. HOME. Where her FAMILY is. As desperate as this may seem even now; just wait until I get "Meet the Beauchene's" out. Then you'll have an even HARDER time believing she went back. ( what's this? FORESHADOWING? :O )**

**And also; a certain EponineJondretteGirl's PM for the last chapter reminded me that I should probably give credit where it's do to the song I put at the end of each chapter. Heh heh… sorry copyright laws. **

**This one is still "If You Ever Come Back"; because this entire extra has been Script-ified. Because they are AMAZING. **

**Yep; that's all I've got for now! Please R&R, my lovelies! Each kind word is a motivating inspiration! :D ~DonJuana**


	5. Chapter 5

"Enjolras? Enjolras—are you with us, boy?"

Enjolras's head snapped up at the sound of his name, and he felt his face reddening as he saw Chassé, Gorneau, and Beaupré's eyes all one him. "Sorry, gentlemen. I'm a bit out of it today. Please; carry on." Enjolras replied, nodding his head. But the frontrunner men were silent, watching him bemusedly. Enjolras's eyes darted around, glancing at the other men surrounding him; but the rest were mostly in the middle of independent banters amongst themselves.

"Enjolras; what's wrong?" Beaupré suddenly asked, soft gaze evaluating his expression. Enjolras returned his attention to his new friends, exhaling deeply. "Nothing. Let's just carry on with our discussion."

"Well now we _know_ it's certainly not nothing! Do tell, Enjolras; we're all ears." Gorneau continued, putting his hand on the younger man's shoulder. Enjolras crumpled in defeat, huffing, "How did you know?"

"You just told us." Gorneau winked with a low chuckle. Enjolras snorted, shaking his head. Beaupré, with a pejorative glance to Gorneau, continued, "In addition to the fact that you've been in a sort of daze all day. Your eyes tell a story that your lips do not, my friend."

Enjolras cast his eyes downward, contemplating whether or not he should let it all come pouring out; whether he would be seen as weak or trivial in his in his anguish. He pondered all of the possible consequences; being sent away from the meeting, being taunted or teased… not being able to keep his composure as he talked it all over. Did he really want to risk confiding in these men he'd only just recently met these grieving feelings he was trying to hide from even himself?

But despite the warnings bouncing around in his head, he soon realized that his mouth was moving and the entire incident was being released from it. He managed to hold it together—for an extent of emotional detachment and shock still remained in him—but as each vivid description played back in his head, he had to hold back winces. The night before had been hellish; after collapsing in exhaustion he'd woken up in the middle of the night—unable to fall back asleep after his initial spur of the lack of energy after the fight was gone. He'd just lain there, staring at the ceiling of their—_his _flat, thinking it all over and putting his hands on his face as if to hide from the pain. He could practically _feel_ her tears… _see_ the burning sentiment of betrayal residing in her eyes…

Each of these did he express to his comrades; and to each of these did they silently listen. Every few minutes one of the trio would nod or grimace, but other than these there was not much change in expression. This made what little was left of the respectable side of his brain slightly anxious, but the independent, proud Enjolras did not seem to be present. In his place was a man grieving for the woman he loved.

A man so like the lovesick Marius that he nearly bellowed in irony. He'd constantly teased and smirked at the boy who'd so dolefully lamented for his "ghost" of a girl; and now it was _he_ who'd lost the one he most cared for.

When he'd finished his explanation, he looked up and saw all three of the men before him watching him with curious looks on their faces. Chassé looked as if he was thinking deeply (hardly a stretch from his normal mein), Gorneau somber and brooding (a much more diverse change relative to Chassé's), and Beaupré sympathetic and commiserative. Enjolras sat, slightly unnerved, as they said nothing, but after what seemed like an eternity of silence, Chassé broke the gauche moment by standing and saying, "Gentlemen, gentlemen! Quiet down, please." The boathouse went silent, and Enjolras felt his eyes widen; heart thudding luridly in his chest. What was the older man doing?

"I'm going to dismiss our meeting a bit early today, as I have something I must attend to. I will see you all next week." he continued, nodding to the small crowd of men around him. Their eyes flashed confusion, but Chassé's sent a silent message of "_No questions, please."_ And, after seeing this daunting warning of body language, their befuddlement evaporated and they complied without a word, filing out of the building with not much more than a few muttered conversations exchanged as they exited.

When the four were alone, Enjolras hastily said, "Forgive me, Chassé. I shouldn't have weighed you down with my troubles. But you didn't have to disband the meeting, I could have just left you all al—"

"That is not why I dismissed them all, Enjolras." Chassé told him calmly.

"Wh—what?" Enjolras stammered, sounding like a child in his bemusement.

"I did not culminate the meeting so that I could more privately send you away." the older man laughed, clapping his shoulder. Enjolras's expression must've asked a silent question, because Gorneau picked up with, "After you told us of your problem, we decided that you're a man who could more than use a few rounds at the tavern."

"Oh. _Oh…_ Well, I'm very much obliged, gentlemen; but you really shouldn't have. I'll be fine; you didn't have to stop the meeting for me." Enjolras protested in surprise.

"Nonsense! Every man needs a nice outing with friends once in a while." Gorneau put his arm around Enjolras's shoulders, grinning widely at his new comrade. Enjolras bit his lip, deliberating the offer. He'd been drunk before; he knew how difficult it was to think when inebriated. Was that what he needed? To forget?

Was that what he _wanted_?

Beaupré—ever maintaining his thoughtful disposition—stepped forward and looked him in the eyes, reading his reflective expression. "Look, Enjolras; we've all had our fair share of broken hearts in the past. Hell, I'm married and I still worry about rejection and neglect! And if there's one thing we've learned in our years, it's that sometimes you just need to wash it all away. Pathetic as it may seem, there's nothing like a nice mug of ale to clear the head."

As Enjolras looked at the insightful man's knowing eyes, he nodded. He needed to clear away all of the wretched thoughts and recollections plaguing his mind. He needed to distract himself with friends and a few pints. He needed to escape the world where she dwelled in everything he set his eyes upon.

~o~0~o~

_Am I better off dead, am I better off a quitter?  
They say I'm better off now, than I ever was with her  
As they take me to my local down the street  
I'm smiling but I'm dying trying not to drag my feet…  
_

~o~0~o~

**A/N:**** Phew! Here we are with the next chapter! I'm sorry I didn't update sooner; I've had a very busy week. **

**Aww… looks like Enj has made some new BBFF's! (Best BROS for Life) But on the more melancholy note; you know things are bad when Enjolras goes DRINKING. **

**Kudoos and a virtual hug from Enjolras to anyone who can match these new companions of our vest-wearin' leader to some of his old friends' personalities! (Yes, that was intended; don't worry! XD )**

**The song is "Nothing" by The Script… one of the most heartbreakingly sweet and desperate songs I've ever heard. R&R, my rebellious amis! I love you all with the vastness of the 2012 Mis movie barricade! (I mean; have you SEEN the thing? It's absolutely gigantic!) ~DonJuana**


	6. Chapter 6

_Knock. Knock. Knock. _"Lynette? May I come in?"

"Yes; come on in, Ree." Lynette called out to her brother. Henry could hear the lackluster tone of his sister's voice, and his lips pressed into a hard line. He had never— since he was old enough to actually comprehend what was going on around him—seen her like this. Since she first started talking, her voice had always been one with a life in its own; full of animation and unbreakable spirit. Whether it had been full of angry fire as she spat back the insults their aunt threw her way, or of elated vivaciousness as she talked about her passion for justice and freedom; effervescence had always shown through.

And now... now there was _nothing_.

He quickly made himself a vow that whatever had caused her to fall into this impassive pit he would personally try to fix or just completely _take care of_ as necessary.

He entered Lynette's room and found her sitting by the window, melancholy face lightening to a forced, cheery guise when she turned to look at him. "Good morning, brother." she said, grinning. He shot a half smile back, but it was closely followed by, "There's no need to force it, Netta. You don't need to stay strong for me."

At this, her optimistic mask fell away completely, and Henry caught a glimpse of the toll this was taking on her. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot; dark, dismal circles residing beneath them like prison guards detaining her brio behind their crestfallen bars. Her clothing was rumpled and askew as if she'd slept in it, and the way she carried herself—usually so potent and self-assured—as if attenuated; broken. Something had _broken_ his coercive sister.

"You've always understood me better than anyone else, Henry. Well, everyone except…" Lynette began weakly, before snapping her jaw shut and scolding herself. '_Don't you dare start with that. Pity parties will not be tolerated, Lynette.' _

But Henry had caught the fragmented sentence. "Except who? Lynette, what _happened_ to you?"

Lynette's eyes welled up at his words. That was the question, wasn't it? What _had_ happened to her? Where had her former self run off to; leaving nothing but this weak, emotional girl in her place?

Henry saw her eyes glittering and immediately stepped forward, wrapping her in a huge bear-hug. This wasn't like her at all. She so rarely cried that sometimes he forgot she even could. It was like the girl in his embrace was a complete stranger instead of his beloved sibling.

"Remember that… that student I came home with a while back?" Lynette whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. Henry paled, beginning to guess what all of this had stemmed from, but still responded, "Yes. Enjolras, correct?"

Her nod was stiff and he could practically _feel_ her wincing; confirming his deduction. His face had just darkened when she continued with, "Well… w—we sort of… got into a f—fight."

Henry snapped away from his hug to look at her wide-eyed. "He _struck_ you?" he asked in irate disbelief.

"No! No, he didn't physically hurt me in any way! It was… it was his words…" she mumbled, looking down at the floor. Henry's eyes narrowed into slits, and he caught his sister's eye. "Where can I find him?" he growled.

"Henry!" Lynette cried out in surprise. Her brother had always been one of the most flippant boys she knew; carefree and positive. To see him so menacingly threatening another was _more_ than out of character.

"I'm not teasing, Lynette. Where does he live? I will make him wish he had never opened his mouth." Henry snarled through grit teeth.

Lynette stared at her younger brother; mouth agape. He was willing to track down the man who had hurt her and risk his own wellbeing against an obviously older and visibly stronger opponent for _her_ pride. How many other girls were blessed with a brother such as Henry?

"My heart swells with sisterly love at those words, Ree—but what's done is done. No use for _both_ of us to go off getting hurt by his hand." she said, a feeble smile creeping onto her face.

"No, Lynette. He's about to learn that _no one_—especially not some pompous, self-righteous student—can get away with hurting _my_ sister without running into me as a consequence." Henry continued; the rage on his face clearly defined.

"Weren't _you _once a student, frère?" Lynette coerced a chuckle, attempting to lighten Henry's tense mood. Her efforts met no avail. "Yes; indeed I was. Perhaps that's why they threw me out; because I wasn't ostentatious enough for them!" he laughed coldly; acid coating his tone. "Now, please give me an address before I go out and try to find him myself."

"Henry, you are the most wonderful brother a person could be blessed with, and this protective behavior is only confirming that more fully; but you need to stop and think for a moment! I'm fine, and you can't just go—"

"No! You're _not_ fine! That's the worst of it!" he yelled, taking Lynette's shoulders in his hands and shaking her. She looked at him, shocked by his outburst; but when he looked up at her, his eyes were glittering. "All our lives… all our lives, Lynette; you've always been able to handle anything the world threw at you. The dwindling of our siblings, scorn for your passions, Aunt Virginie's caustic comments. But this…" he took in a deep, shuddering breath before continuing, "this has reduced you to a mere _shell_ of herself. It is written all over you; your eyes scream out in their agony. And it strikes _terror_ in my heart, Netta. Seeing the girl who has always been the obstinate rock in my life—my sister and nonpareil—_crumble_ makes me feel much as you do; frightened, confused, and dismayed."

Lynette would have sighed were it not for the lump in her throat. And so much had built up that obstruction; the fight itself, her regrets, her mother's solacing arms, and now her brother's words. '_Words are funny things,' _she thought in satiric bitterness, '_but mighty powerful, too. They can mend, comfort, warm, and spur; or cause nothing but destruction. And woe to those who take kind words for granted…' _

'_They will learn, as I have.' _

"And I'm sorry I've dragged you into my sorrow with me, Henry. I know my problems are just that; my own—but talking about it… well, I just know that feeling bottled up would only result in my tumbling over the edge when I eventually got close enough to the brink." Lynette finally managed with a grimace.

"Don't be sorry; I'm glad you told me. Because now I know that if I ever see that rat of a man again…"

"You won't."

"You can't know that for sure. Paris may be big, but the world is small."

"Perhaps that wise philosophy is true; but all I know for sure is that I made choices, and so did he. And as a result of the choices we both made… I doubt I'll see him again."

Henry took a good, long look at Lynette; especially taking in her strange expression as she stumbled over the last part of her sentence. The silence that settled between them was as long and deep as the sprawling blue fathoms of the ocean; and after a while, Lynette had to look down as she couldn't take the discomfiture. Her brother was just barely twenty-one… and yet in times like this, he had the all-knowing gaze of am old man with plenty of worldly experience.

After what seemed like an eternity and a half, Henry's face fell sadly. "You still love him, don't you?" he asked.

The question shot into her like a viper's swift bite; the words sinking in as painfully as its fangs. She was silent for a moment as the thoughts began racing through her head once more; searching frantically for an answer.

"I… I… don't know. I don't know." she sputtered truthfully, looking up at him with fresh tears forming in her eyes—making them seem more aquatic than usual. He put his arm around her, pulling her close. "And that's just fine. Better, even. It'll make it easier to move on." he said, shooting her a small smile.

She wiped the tears away with her sleeve, desperate to erase any visible, tangible signs that her heart was aching dreadfully. That all of this was even _real_.

"God, I hope so." she whispered in low, desperate prayer.

~o~0~o~

_I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing…_

_What am I supposed to do,_

_when the best part of me was always you?_

…_I'm fallin' to pieces…_

~o~0~o~

**A/N:**** Enter Henry; Lynette's younger brother, who has made QUITE the change in character in this DS/E (it will be more noticeable once I release 'Meet the Beauchene's; since that one takes place first in the grand scheme of things). But I love it when brothers are protective of their sisters… it always makes me smile. X) **

**The song is "Breakeven (Fallin' to Pieces)"; another one of The Script's more popular songs. **

**R&R, my friends; you must know by now how I love hearing your ideas and opinions! ~DonJuana**


	7. Chapter 7

Enjolras stumbled through the door of his garret, and when he turned to close it again; his head reeled and he had to stop for a moment. God; he couldn't remember the last time he'd drank that much! He'd never been particularly fond of alcohol; only drinking when his friends promised that they wouldn't stop pestering him until he did. But this had actually been quite solacing… for a while. Chassé, Gorneau, and Beaupré were entertaining to spend time with while intoxicated; and he found it even funnier that they still retained some of their most prominent qualities even while the liquor they'd drank pulsed through them. Gorneau remained the court jester of the group; his only interest a good time. The brandy he'd downed like a sailor seemed to do nothing but strengthen this trait, in fact. And the vociferous, brusque, carefree attitude of the animated man reminded Enjolras so much of Grantaire that it _hurt_ some points in the night.

'_And—_he suddenly realized; his mind-thought processing disgustingly slow after his night out—'_during those painful moments, I did not think of _her.'

Exchanging one grief for the other; would the world ever be fair?

He shook his head, trying to push the thought to the back of his mind by redirecting his contemplations back to his new friends.

Beaupré had stayed more or less the same as well; though his poet's tongue had been tainted and tied by the— as he'd giddily called it— "devil's nectar". When he wasn't scolding Gorneau for saying something insensitive (which occupied him for most of the night), he'd been attempting to get an intelligible word of consolation out—but Enjolras had more or less just pretended to know what he was trying to say; as his speech was extremely slurred, and thinking about it too hard made Enjolras's head pound.

And Chassé… Chassé had been the true shock of the trio. After finishing off several mugs, he began rambling about the past tragedies of his own love life; giving Enjolras garbled, nearly incoherent advice based off his surprisingly countless stories. Enjolras could hardly believe just how many experiences he'd had; Chassé did not at all seem the type to have casanova tendencies. But he didn't question the older man; for it was by now evident that drinking had the power to bring out the raw truth in a man.

And then the man who was usually such a calm, no-nonsense leader became the leader of the drinking songs before getting a bit too excited and promptly passing out cold. It took both Gorneau and Beaupré to hoist him up off the ground and out the door; and though the remaining conscious pair had hoped to walk Enjolras home to be sure he made it safely and happily, there was no other way of getting Chassé back to _his_ flat. He thought the conversation had gone something like this; but the throbbing headache and muddled senses made it quite difficult to remember exactly.

"You sure that you'll… be alrigh', 'Jolras?"

"No, but at least I remember how t' get home."

"Aw; lover boy's gonna be looonely—"

"Gorneau!"

"Sorry, _Mum_."

"You know, you c'd always come wit' us."

"No, I'll b'fine. You two just get Chassé home in one piece."

"No promises!"

"Well' _one 'f us does_, 'nyway. Have a good res' of the night, 'Jolras."

"Same t' you two."

"Don' think 'bout her too much!"

"Gorneau!"

"Wha; you gonna put me inna time-out?"

He chuckled quietly to himself as he though of their childish bickering; then fumbled for his key for a moment until he finally managed to get it into the keyhole. But then he stopped, staring at it for a moment. He'd realized that if he locked the door, he was locking her out. And what if she came back tonight while he was asleep? He surely wouldn't be able to hear her knocking in his drunken slumber. And then she'd think he was purposely ignoring her. And then she'd get angry with him again. And then she'd _never_ come back.

He eyed the key thoughtfully. '_Maybe I'll just leave the door open tonight…' _he abruptly considered, beginning to pull the key back out of the lock. But common sense slammed back into him like a bludgeon, and he snapped out of his trance-like state for a moment. '_No! What are you thinking? That's an _invitation _to thieves!' _

_'And she'd find her own way in… she knows where the spare key is…' _

_ 'Damn it, Enjolras! Stop this right now!' _

But that tiny string of thought led to countless others; and before long she'd completely taken over his thoughts once more. Part of him always tried to fight it, but his efforts met no avail. He couldn't keep going on like this. He was drunk… but not drunk enough. That would just have to change tomorrow.

Then abruptly, he snorted. He was turning into Grantaire.

~o~0~o~

…_I'll leave the door on the latch  
If you ever come back, if you ever come back  
There'll be a light in the hall and a key under the mat  
If you ever come back  
There'll be a smile on my face and the kettle on  
And it will be just like you were never gone  
There'll be a light in the hall and a key under the mat  
If you ever come back, if you ever come back now…_

…_And by leaving my door open  
I'm risking everything I own  
There's nothing I can lose in the break in that you haven't taken…_

**A/N:**** Ok, let me just get this out of the way right away. As forlorn as this chapter was—I ADORE writing Gorneau, Beaupre, and Chasse. Especially when they're drunk. It puts a smile on my face. X) And there's more of them to come; don't you worry! (unless you don't like having them around… in which case you could always shoot me a review stating your displeasure… ;)**

**And all that aside; well, there ya go. Maybe you thought he wasn't going to go through with it, but he did. The unassailable Enjolras is drunk. Things are getting bad, my pretties… :(**

**R&R! Je t'aime, faithful readers! Song is 'If You Ever Come Back'. ~DonJuana**


	8. Chapter 8

It rained the following day. It was one of those dreadfully gloomy days where the sickeningly lackluster sky just opened up and began to mercilessly barrage the world with water; one of those days where the windowpane looked more like an agonized face with tears silently streaming down her pallid glass cheeks.

'_How appallingly appropriate.' _Lynette couldn't help cynically thinking to herself as she threw open the sash. The cool, moisture-ridden air hit her face like a gentle caress, and she got down on her knees so that she was level with the opening. She longed to go out and take a walk; to feel the frigid fall showers pounding on her skin. To let the rain overtake her thoughts and wash everything else away.

She couldn't understand why she so desired this, why she had moped around the apartment all morning like some kind of sighing, lamenting, helpless maiden, and—most of all—why in the _world_ she thought that would help her forget. Water may have the power to wash away dirt, the blood spilt by martyrs, and even an entire city in a sudden, raging flood; but it could not stop her from thinking.

Thinking of what he'd said… hating him for hurting her so… thinking of his expression as she'd walked out the door… hating him for looking so inconceivably forgivable… she just kept telling herself how much she hate, hate, _hated_ him. But there was always a tiny, mocking voice whispering to her from the furthermost part of her mind, '_As if…'_

But she'd simply retaliate by replaying one of the things he'd said; though in almost all cases it would do nothing but wound her further and urge on the murmurings, '_And yet, you can still not hate him. You cannot hate him no matter how much you try because despite everything, you still l—" _

"No!" she suddenly yelled; yanking the window shut with a loud, violent bang. She could feel the rehabilitated tears stinging in her eyes; but she fought them angrily, unwilling to let the cruel, derisive part of her conscience win.

"Lynette? Lynette!" her mother cried, bursting through the door. Lynette took one look at her mother's panicked face and calmed herself; unclenching her teeth and fingers and taking a deep breath. "It's alright, Mama. Sorry to startle you; I opened the window a bit to let the fresh air in, and the rain started leaking through the crack." she quickly explained. Her mother's eyes darted anxiously downward, and Lynette bit the inside of her cheek; knowing she'd been caught in her lie as soon as they fell upon the very _dry_ floor beneath the sill. But her mother said nothing, just nodded before turning towards the door again. Lynette couldn't hold back a hushed sigh of relief. But the older woman glanced back once; swiftly looking her daughter up and down. Her brow creased in worry once more. "Can I get you anything, dear? Some tea, perhaps?" she asked her.

"No, I'm alright for now. But thank you." Lynette replied, forcing a small smile.

"Some breakfast?"

"No thanks. I'm not hungry."

"But you haven't eaten anything since yesterday!"

"I know. I'm just not hungry."

"Are you sure there isn't—"

"No, Mama!" Lynette exclaimed, cutting her mother off irritably. But she immediately regretted her sharp tone as she saw just a hint of shock flash through her mater's eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been that sharp with you—"

"It's alright, Netta. I understand." her mother replied softly with a sympathetic smile. And a true, genuinely content smile broke Lynette's saddened guise at the sight of it; those two, quiet, miniscule words having a deeper meaning that touched, assured, and connected her to the strong woman before her.

"Thank you." she whispered in response; stepping forward and embracing her.

"You're welcome, ma petite. But please tell your Mama this; have you changed your clothes once since you… arrived here?" she asked cautiously; eyes flitting over Lynette's rumpled, worn garb.

"Mamaaaa!" Lynette protested teasingly.

"I know, I know. But all joking aside; please tell me there's something I can do. I've been watching you for the past two days… watching the life drain from your usually so spirited eyes… and I can't… I can't just _watch_ anymore. I feel so helpless… and for a mother, that is one of the world's most terrifying feeling." she suddenly murmured, eyes grave as they bored into Lynette's. But there was something else there… something far from the serious look of a dejected mother. There was the anxious, sorrowful look of a frightened _child_; and Lynette couldn't help feeling slightly guilty for causing it. She realized that though her mother knew she did not want to talk about what had happened, she felt she needed to help her miserable little girl in some way… any way. As long as it was not simply sitting back and letting her wallow.

And it took Lynette but a moment to come up with something to appease her. "Well… do you think you could… brush my hair? Like when I was young?" she inquired quietly, walking over to one of her cabinet drawers and pulling out a hairbrush. She was relieved to see her mother's eyes light up. "Of course! Would you like me to braid it like we used to, while we're at it? I think it's finally long again…" she questioned her daughter; trying to glaze over the last part of the statement.

A blush rose to Lynette's cheeks. Several years ago, when she'd overheard her aunt scorning a woman she'd seen on the street who had cut off all of her hair; she'd chopped off several inches of her long, chocolate tresses before promptly marching into the room and stating that she had no right to turn up her nose at a woman on the street because of something as shallow as hair. It wasn't the haircut itself that had dismayed her mother that day (if she did so herself; it looked rather good for someone who'd never before picked up a pair of styling scissors); it was once again the verbal battle sparked by Lynette's rebellious action.

"I'd like that. Thank you, Mama." Lynette replied simply, taking her mother's tacit invitation to avoid the subject.

They walked into her mother's bedroom; where her mother sat her down at the vanity before ducking into the bathroom to get her things. Lynette watched her for a moment, then turned to the mirror. And she had to fight back a gasp at what she saw.

She could instantly see why her mother had been so unbearably concerned. She looked more like a prisoner or a hospital patient than a girl who'd recently been the tireless trailblazer of a revolution. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin sullen and pale, and her lips dry and cracked. She already looked thinner than usual, and her entire demeanor resembled that of someone who hadn't slept in _weeks_; exhausted, overwhelmed, and hopeless. She could hardly recognize herself. She looked like someone who had been scouring the streets for food in her time away from home instead of living in the loving care of a well-off man—

No. She refused to start those whirring thoughts up again unless they were to remind her that _he'd _done this to her. _He'd_ been the one to hurt her so deeply that she barely felt like herself anymore. Him, him, him.

She suddenly had an extremely strong urge to break the mirror; shatter this reminder of all that had happened because of a few cruel, searing words from him. But her mother was already on her way back to her; so she fought to regain her tranquil, cheerful countenance. "Here we are. Some ribbons, a brush, and just a pinch of patience." her mother winked, recurring the statement she'd always declare before brushing a much younger Lynette's hair.

"You… you remember that?" Lynette inquired in gratified surprise. Sa mère just smiled; eyes softening as she gazed down at her. "Of course. How could I forget a part of something I hold so dear in my memories?" she replied tenderly, pressing a kiss to Lynette's forehead. Lynette felt a fresh lump forming in her throat. She'd never understood what had happened between she and her mother; how they'd gone from jovial days of hair ribbons and laughter to an implausibly tense relationship where Lynette felt that she didn't even know her own mother anymore. She still knew not why she had always remained undefended against her Aunt's contempt; but she realized that part of the problem had been _her_. Her taking nearly all of her frustrations out on the woman who'd so lovingly raised her—her kissing their special, intimate bond goodbye and completely shutting her out; wrongly assuming that her mother wouldn't care. She had cared… all this time she had really, truly cared. Even if she'd rarely meet her eyes when her sister was present… even when she'd beg her to keep her defiant ideas to herself…

But no; she refused to dwell on those things after her mother had all but pulled her up off the street and brought her back to the home she had many a time left in an angry rage— completely forgiving her for all the pain she'd caused her.

The pair did not speak as her mother began gently running the brush through Lynette's russet curls; but the silence was not uncomfortable on either end. In fact, Lynette could hear her mother quietly humming to herself as she often had in past times like this one; a jaunty tune with a small, peaceful smile. And it was like a weight had been lifted off of Lynette's shoulders as she looked at the reflection of it in the mirror. She hadn't seen her mother looking anything but rundown and disheartened in quite some time.

As her mother worked with the prudence and precision of a glassblower, Lynette found herself slipping into complete and utter relaxation; the simple sensation of her mother's nimble, hardworking fingers running through her locks completely pacifying all tensions, concerns, and trauma that had sprouted within her these past few days.

Or… _nearly_ all of them, anyway. But she shoved the ubiquitous contemplation back angrily; trying to make her mind go completely blank. And though it seemed to have worked after a while, she found she could _feel _the burdened presence of her hampered recollections; always looming menacingly in the darkest shadows of her psyche. Unseen, but an ever-present threat to the stability of her fraught mind.

But she vowed to hide her oblique affliction; for her mother's sake more than her own. She refused to retrogress back to the former, bitter, argumentative version of herself when things were going so well between them. So, she settled back, shut her eyes, and tried to enjoy the soothing atmosphere. Henry had gone off to work for the day, so the flat was silent and somnolent apart from the quiet pattering of the rain on the window and her mother's hushed humming. And, though the silence was somewhat refreshing, Lynette felt that it would be easier to allay her restless mind should she be focusing on even the most trivial of conversations. So, she cleared her throat, beginning, "So, how have things been going? You know, since I last…" she trailed off, biting her lip. Perhaps that was not the best place to have begun the conversation.

But her mother's face remained neutral; idly content, even. "Fine. Henry's been working extra hard lately; bless his heart. Every time I confront him, telling him he'll work himself to death; he simply tells me that he is the man of the house, and he will support his family even if it _does_ bring on the end of his days."

"Oh, Ree. He always has been such a stubborn thing." Lynette chuckled softly, shaking her head.

"Indeed. I like to think that he inherited that from your father, but _learned_ it from you. That he was born with that passion and ambition in his blood, but developed it from watching his spitfire of a sister." her mother laughed, winking at her in the mirror.

Lynette was genuinely taken aback for a moment. How was it that her mother had completely broken free of her reserved, vigilant shell and was now talking about her father and her fiery tendencies so freely and blithely? Was she simply trying to make up for the times she _hadn't _spoken? Was she simply _saying_ that she was not embarrassed by Lynette's lurid and anomalous views so that she did not hurt her again so soon after a heartbreak? Possibilities flew through her thoughts like billowing, red warning flags; but she tried her best to ignore them and carry on. "It's an interesting theory. But I'm not entirely convinced; for sometimes he can be even more stubborn than _me_." she replied jokingly.

"Oh no, I don't think so. For just the other day, I managed to convince him to shorten his workweek by a day. Once your mind was set on something, you could _never_ be convinced otherwise." They both laughed at this; but the sound was weaker—more awkward. A period of silence followed, but Lynette quickly decided that the conversation could not be left on that note and continued, "And what about you personally? You've been… alright?"

Her mother smiled down at her, stopping mid-brush for but a moment. "Yes, I've been fine; thanks to Henry! I don't know what I'd do without him here to help provide for us."

Lynette tensed, holding back a wince. The statement was fairly innocent, but all _she_ could hear was, "_Yes… thanks to him, but not _you. _I don't know what I'd do without him _since you just went ahead and abandoned us."

And her mother seemed to immediately sense her change in air. "Are you alright, Netta? Oh…" she suddenly uttered, realization dawning in her eyes and dawning in her eyes and draining the color from her face. "Please forgive me, dear. That sounded horribly uncompassionate, and I didn't intend it to—"

"It's alright, Mama. I was just frightened for a moment; I thought you harbored ill feelings with me for leaving." she cut her off, tone somber. Her mother made a sort of sighing sound from the back of her throat, pressing her cheek to the top of Lynette's freshly combed head and pulling her into a halfway embrace. "I never have," she whispered after a minute, "in fact, though it hurt me to see you go, I often told myself that I had to accept and understand… why."

Lynette found that the wave of grateful relief that hit her with the hearing of these words also took away her speech, so she simply mouthed 'thank you' in the mirror. Her mother smiled tenderly at her in return. "You're welcome, darling. After all; you are a grown woman now. You can take care of yourself. You are intelligent enough to make your own decisions. But… letting go _is_ the hardest part of every mother's life." she sighed; retaining that small, sad smile. Lynette nodded to show her she understood, but her mind had wandered elsewhere. '_No… I think letting go is the most difficult part of _anyone's _life.' _she thought to herself, his face flashing through her mind like the maliciously foreboding glint of a sword. After all; she couldn't bring herself to let go of his accusatory comments to forgive him, but she couldn't seem to let go of _him _either.

"Just know that I never hoped to leave forever." she muttered; and the words resounded with such double meaning that she wasn't even sure she was speaking to her mother anymore.

Before long, the braid had been completed; and her mother pulled her up from the chair, exclaiming, "Come, Netta! I have a surprise I nearly forgot to show you!" Lynette followed her into the main room, where she sat her down in front of the fireplace and handed her a blanket before disappearing into the kitchen. "But I'm not cold!" Lynette called after her in childish protest.

"It's raining like the devil out there, and don't think I didn't see your sleeves wet!" her mother shouted back. Lynette looked down at her sleeves, which were indeed damp from when she'd stuck them out the window. Huh. She hadn't even noticed.

She pulled the blanket over her shoulders to satisfy her mother; but—in truth—it could not help warm the kind of numbness she felt. And the more she thought about what had happened, the more streaks of icy anger, despair, and emptiness chipped the way through the cool detachment. So yes—perhaps she was cold—but no amount of flickering hearths or warm, woolen blankets was going to change that.

And then there she went again; letting her thoughts grow bitter and agonized. But thankfully, she was not alone with them for long before her mother returned with a mug in her hands. Lynette set her eyes on it and tried to focus her mind completely on the lazy, white steam rising up out of it, its smooth, impeccable surface, and the way her mother's slender, work-worn fingers wrapped around it ever-so-carefully; for at least that gave her something to occupy herself with.

"Here we are; this will warm you up straight away." her mother chirped, handing it to her.

"I told you, Mama; I'm not even cold! You didn't need to—" she began, but as she looked down at the cup, she gasped. It was hot chocolate. She'd only had hot chocolate at two other times in her life; both as a delightful surprise after some extra money had been scraped together to buy it. It was a luscious, pricey, rare luxury she'd always been overjoyed to find waiting for her; and despite everything, that included today.

"Hot chocolate? Oh, Mama! I haven't had hot chocolate since I was a little girl!" she breathed, staring down at it and letting the temperate steam tickle her face.

"I know. But Henry received a bonus last month, and I figured such a treat would be a perfect way to celebrate. Besides; don't I remember you saying you'd _live_ off of hot chocolate alone if you could?" her mother laughed, winking at her.

"Yes… when I was eleven and naïve! Thank you so much; this is a wonderful surprise." Lynette said with a grateful beam.

"My pleasure, dear, Remind me to make Ree some for when he gets home as well." she requested in reply; eyes shining with elated respite at her daughter's genuine glee.

"But of course. It was with his bonus that we have come to acquire it, after all!" Lynette giggled before inhaling the sweet scent of the rich, milky liquid.

"Do you still remember what it tastes like?" her mother inquired eagerly. Lynette nodded enthusiastically. "I believe so. I have… I have tasted chocolate recently, and it has helped to job my memory." she replied, stumbling slightly as it flew through her mind _who'd_ brought her the chocolate. But she made a quick recovery; bringing the mug to her lips and taking a large, savory gulp of the lukewarm beverage. The dulcet, thick taste danced across her taste buds like chocolate flames; consuming all in their path with one burst of their delicious flavoring. Lynette swallowed it euphorically, then closed her eyes for a moment; relishing it. "Mm…" she sighed, "Just as I remember it. Liquid perfection. Thank you." she finished, turning to her mère.

"No, thank you. Thank you for letting me… well, take care of you. Hover over you like the fidgety bird I am." her mother answered, chuckling.

"My pleasure. It really was nice, having you—" Lynette started; but she was suddenly cut off by a loud, discordant, urgent knocking on the door. He mother sighed, then put her hand on Lynette's cheek with a brief, knowing look before heading to the door. Whoever it was, they were viciously impatient; not ceasing their pounding once. "Coming, coming." her mother called tiredly before unlatching the door.

"I do hope you did not plan to leave you poor, soaked-to-the-bone sister standing out in the hallway, soeur!"

Lynette nearly dropped the cup in her hands as she grew completely rigid; her blood running cold. It was the unmistakable voice of Aunt Virginie. She was here.

"Oh! V—Virginie! What a… surprise! What brings you here?" she heard her mother stammer in reply.

"Oh, I thought I'd just drop in for a quick visit. But the weather was certainly not in my favor!" her aunt's shrill voice whined like a spoiled child.

And after having stopped completely, Lynette's heart began to pound she slipped into a panic. No, no, no, no, no! Her aunt couldn't be here! She couldn't see her like this! Not after the things she'd said when she'd come here with Enjolras! _She was too weak to fight back this time_!

"A—apparently not. My apologies, Virginie; but I was not expecting guests! I'm right in the middle of—"

"Nonsense, Elodie! Guests are one thing, but relatives are another! Just a quick stopover."

"Now's really not a good time, soeur."

Lynette stopped in her frantic search for another way out. Was her mother trying to… send her aunt away?

"Oh? What could possibly be so vital that you're sending your own blood awa—"

"It's a long, complicated story that I'd be happy to share with you another day. Goodbye Vir—"

"Wait a moment, Elodie! I demand an explanation for this! Surely you have time for—"

"No, I do not! Goodbye, Virginie!" her mother retorted before beginning to shut the door. Lynette's eyebrows flew up in shock. Her mother had _never_ been that sharp with her aunt before. And it was clear in Virginie's tone that she was just as surprised… as well as affronted. "Well then, good day! Get any more terse than that, and I do believe you'll be as bad as that perfidious little vixen of your!"

"I'd appreciate you not speaking of my _daughter _that way, Virginie." her mother spat with cold, irate venom coating her voice. "Good day, and I hope the rain grows to your liking."

And the final, reverberating sound of the door clicking back into place concluded a long-awaited victory against Aunt Virginie.

Lynette's mother had gotten only halfway through turning back towards the fireplace when she felt two arms swiftly wrap around her. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." Lynette whispered; a single tear rolling down her heat-flushed face cheek. Her mother pulled her close, resting her face on the top of her daughter's head and closing her eyes; tears of her own threatening to spill over her lids. "You're welcome, Netta." she murmured in reply.

~o~0~o~

_But I still don't know where to start, still finding my way  
Still talk about you like it was yesterday  
But you're long gone and moved on…_

**A/N****: Ciao, bellas! ;)**

**Here's a shocker of a chapter! Lynette and her mother… getting along? And… and… Elodie Beauchene (our dear Madame Beauchene's real name; as will be explained in "Meet the Beauchene's") STANDING UP TO AUNT VIRGINIE? *major gasps from the studio audience* That's right! If you read back in "Passion for Patria" to when Lynette and Enj were talking in the park, you'll notice that Enjolras was quick to suggest that her mother did in fact love her—she was just conflicted. And it looks like he was right, eh? **

**But now he's gone and she's all hunky-dory with her family… mon Dieu; what has the world of DonJuana Misfics come to? **

**Song = Long Gone and Moved On :) Don't own it… God, how I wish I owned it. And the Script. And Les Miserables. And Enjolras. X) **

**Like**** R&R if you wish the same thing! ;D And tune in next week, my glorious readers! ~DonJuana**


	9. Chapter 9

~o~0~o~

_One week later…_

"And then I said, 'Me? Wrong? I'm never wrong, you ignorant son-of-a-bitch!" Gorneau conveyed his garbled tale, causing the others surrounding him to roar with laughter. Well, all but one. Enjolras sat in solemn silence—eyes bleary and head reeling—suddenly untickled by Gorneau's witty account.

"And I said, 'Well sir; you think you're righ', and I think I'm righ'; so perhaps we just need t'see who is truly correct!" Gorneau continued; enthralling the others with his comedic, clever story. "So, we went up there, face-to-face, and we did just that! And I, of course, came out triumphant in _that_ feat." he finished smugly, earning him a chortle from Chassé and a sarcastic round of applause from Beaupré. He glowered at them. "What? I _am _always righ'!"

"Oh really? What about the time—" Chassé began; but whatever shameful event he was about to reveal was cut off by the cacophonic scraping of a chair against the tavern floor as Enjolras pushed away from the bar and began hobbling towards the door. The trio of inebriated men looked at each other confusedly for a moment, then—in some tacit agreement—jumped up and began hurrying after the their blonde friend. "Enjolras? Enjolras! Wait, lad!"

But Enjolras could hardly hear their calls; his addled and dispirited mind and aching heart urging him forward… urging him to go find her. Gorneau's haughty narrative had reminded him immensely of his own angry thoughts from during and shortly after the fight. And the resolution had made him realize what he had to do now. '_Face-to-face… I'll tell her in person how sorry I am. Then she'll forgive me… then she'll come home.'_

"Enjolras! Where the hell do y'think you're goin'?" he heard Chassé call from behind him. He didn't even stop his off-balance stride down the street as he answered back, "To find Lynette. I need to apologize."

Gorneau, Chassé, and Beaupré exchanged a wide-eyed look; then sprinted as quickly as their drunken bodies would allow towards the younger man. Gorneau was the first to reach him, and instantly grabbed his arm. "Whoa there, mate. Let's stop an' think 'bout this for a moment." he said calmly; barely able to hold back a wince as his robust comrade attempted to jerk away from him.

"Let go of me, Gorneau. I know what I need t'do." Enjolras grumbled irritable.

"No, y'really don't. Chasin' after this li'l minx is _not _what you n—"

"Don't you _dare_ call her that!" Enjolras snarled, whipping around to fully face the over-confident man—who was now paling slightly as he weighed his slim chances against an angry, muscular Enjolras. But before anything else could be said that all would regret, Beaupré decided to step in. "Look, 'Jolras; he didn' mean it. What he was tryin' t'say was that we're not so sure itsa good idea t'go runnin'afta her when you're… well, so muddled." the well-spoken man sputtered, daring to put his hand on Enjolras's tense shoulder in an attempt to divert his livid gaze. It worked like a charm; Enjolras was quick to turn his glare on Beaupré, but his angry quickly fell away as he looked at the other man's pitying expression. He sighed. "I know; and I'm sorry, Gorneau. I just… I just… I _need_ t'see her. I need her t'see how sorry I am!" he muttered ashamedly.

"Well; not t'night, m'friend. Maybe jus'… sleep on it? And then—" Beaupré began, but Chassé suddenly cut him off.

"And then what? He goes back t'her and falls t'his knees, implorin' her forgiveness? Damn it, man; it's been a week! If y'really think she's gonna take y'back; why'd ya wait this long in the first place?" the kingpin exclaimed, a hint of exasperation in his tone.

The harsh reality of his words cut into Enjolras like a knife, but they weren't enough to stop his desperate longing to go find Lynette. He just couldn't get her out of his head… and moving on wasn't as simple as some men made it out to be.

"Shame and pride. But I've figured out that I can't go on like this. I can't live on knowin' that she left thinking I thought her to be a hypocrite; and no amount of alcohol seems t'be changin' that!" he bellowed, grabbing a fistful of hair in his stress, anguish, and frustration. At first, his new friends were silent; unsure of exactly what to say. But after a moment, Beaupré piped up. "We know it's hard, 'Jolras; we really do. But we're here t'help y'remember that you're not alone in this. That we'll help y'find a way t'forget her." he said with a reassuring smile. But Enjolras could only frown in return; conflicted and upset. "But that's just the thing! I'm not so sure I _want_ t'forget—"

"'ello, gentlemen. Any of ya lookin' fer a nice nigh'?"

They turned to see a rather shabby looking woman behing them; the cocky smile and baleful look in her eyes telling them exactly what she meant and who she was.

"No. We're in the middle of a serious discussion." Chassé was the first to reply, shooting an irritated glare the prostitute's way. But as soon as she heard his rejection, she more or less ignored the last part of the statement and flicked her eyes over to Gorneau. He smiled toothily at her. "Sorry, darlin'; I'm not feelin' too generous tonight." Enjolras thought he saw her jaw tighten at this comment, but she wasted not a moment more before turning to Beaupré. He immediately shook his head at her. "I'm married."

"So were my last three clients. But I made them forget all about—"

"Y'have my answer, now leave me!" the usually so benevolent man snapped. She put her hands up in a mocking show of surrender, then turned her hawkish gaze on Enjolras. Her eyebrows immediately arched in interest; and he could tell by the strain in her neck muscles that she was trying to smile as "prettily" as possibly. "And what 'bout you, 'andsome? Surely somethin' as attractive and… _well-built_ isn't alone tonigh'." she purred, stepping closer and sliding her hand up to rest one his forearm. His teeth clenched at her comment, but as he looked down at her almost…_eager_ and hungry eyes; a sudden thought flashed through his mind.

_'Well, if the drinks aren't doing the trick…'_

"And tell y'what, love; since you've got such a pretty face, I'll lower my normal price." she practically begged him as many had before; unable to see past his outer beauty to the fierce spirit inside capable of being terrible. He looked down at her uncertainly, and he was thinking so hard that his migraine had returned. Could it work? Could something so far-fetched, so out-of-character, so revoltingly _low_ possibly…

Revoltingly low… _revoltingly low. _Good God, what was he doing? Had he actually begun _considering_ the use of a whore to help him forget about the incomparable woman he was still madly in love with?

And as soon as he beautiful face flashed through his head, he felt himself shoving woman away from him. "No thank you. Good day, Mademoiselle." he told her coolly; trying to hide his devastating shame and disbelief in himself with severity and terseness.

"Playin' 'ard t'get, are we? Alrigh', fine; I'll go even lowa. You're lucky you're so—"

"Be gone, woman!" he shouted sharply, pointing down the street. Her eyes widened at his suddenly angry tone, but after a moment she began trudging down the street. "She's a lucky one, y'know." she called back as she walked past him. Enjolras froze; but was quick to regain his harsh pretext. "And what d'you mean by that?" he asked her caustically. She stopped walking to turn back for a moment. "I've met a lotta men in my time, Monsieur—"

"I'd say y'did a whole lot more than just meet 'em!" Beaupré cut in with a scowl; obviously still sore after she suggested he partake in infidelity. She shot him an irritated glare, then turned back to Enjolras and continued, "As I was _sayin'_; I've met a whole lotta men—so I'm sure y'wouldn't find it 'ard to believe me when I say I know what one looks like when 'e's in love wi' another. And usually, even some a' those men'll indulge in a li'l sinnin'. Whoever yours is, she's lucky t'ave you." And then she turned on her heel and disappeared up the dark street. Enjolras hung his head. '_But that's the problem…' _he thought weakly, '_I don't have her anymore.' _But then he glanced up at the street in the general direction of Lynette's flat. '_But isn't that what I came out here to fix?' _

He began walking in a trance-like state up the street once more; and he could just perceive one of the three behind him groan. But apparently plain vexation wasn't enough to stop them, because once again a hand caught his arm. "Now where y'goin, 'Jolras?" he heard Beaupré ask him.

"I _need _to go get her back." he moaned in response, staring madly up the quiet street.

"Oh no y'don't. C'mon, ol' chap; we already talked over this. I think what you _need_ is a few more rounds." Chassé said, more calmly this time. Enjolras now had two pairs of hands on him; restraining him and keeping him from walking a step further. And while he was sure that he'd have been perfectly capable of throwing off his tipsy companions, he knew they were right. He couldn't face her; not like this, not after all that had just taken place in addition to all that had begun this in the first place.

So, he nodded and quietly let them all but drag him back into the tavern.

~o~0~o~

_They say a few drinks will help me to forget her  
But after one too many I know that I'll never  
Only they can see where this is gonna end  
They all think I'm crazy but to me it's perfect sense…_

And my mates are all there trying to calm me down  
Cause I'm shouting your name all over town  
I'm swearing if I go there now  
I can change your mind turn it all around…

…_If I'm with her face to face, she'll come to her senses…_

**A/N:**** We're at about the halfway mark with this DS/E, folks! :D**

**But that also means I REALLY need to pick up the pace with writing the next one… heh heh… **

**Anywhooooo it's been a week and no sign of surrender from either of our strong-willed heroes! Oh noooo! And Enjolras is still being dragged to the tavern every night! Not good! **

**But hurray for more Gorneau, Chassé, and Beaupré! And not so hurray for the lovely lady that threw herself at them! D: **

**That part was hard for me to write—not gonna lie. Is it too OOC for our dear Enjolras? I really tried to make it brick-and-musically realistic. **

**R&R to let me know, or just to chat! I've been having the most lovely PM marathons with Singerdreamer42 and my darling EponineJondretteGirl! So let me ****hear**** your lovely ****voices**** PM's, my lovers of fine fictitious literature! ~DonJuana**


	10. Chapter 10

"_And through the ardent spirit of the people, and the ire caused by the present plight of those in control… we shall __fight____rise up __express our displeasure__…" _

She threw down her pen in resentment, not caring as the ink splattered all over her progress. '_If it can even be called that_…" she thought indignantly. She shoved the soiled parchment aside and picked up a clean sheet, beginning anew. "_Several months ago, I joined a valiant group fighting for the same things we do now…" _

"_No, damn it! Bringing that up just causes a whole new set of problems!" _she scolded herself as she scribbled it out; thinking of how she could be imprisoned should the authorities overhear… it pained her just thinking about those valiant men, dead and gone… and… most of all…

Thinking of the rebellion was thinking of Enjolras. They were one in the same; one was an intimate, indivisible part of the other.

And as soon as this had entered her thoughts, images of him began dancing through her mind; the way his deep, scholarly brown eyes lit up at the completion of the barricade, the way his handsome face had paled in horror as she told him if the death of his friends, the way he set her aflame when he kissed her…

'_No! Stop this foolishness! It's been a week. A week; and there's still been no word from him! He's obviously moved on, so you must too.' _she chastised herself for what seemed like the thousandth time. She took the paper in her hands and crumpled it into a ball, throwing it irascibly at the floor. And—determined as she was to produce something constructive—she dissipated not a moment more before snatching up yet another fresh sheet. '_Whatever happened to__How is it that__When was the last time__ When you think of the word __'__honesty__'__'__integrity__'__ 'justice'; what comes to mind? __For me, I__Hopefully, it isn't__Perhaps it is__—' _

"Merde a l'enfer; what's wrong with me?" she seethed in livid infuriation. All she wanted—all she'd asked for—was one, simple, intelligible and inciting speech. Just one! And nothing particularly spectacular, either; just something that was concise but still up to her usual standards. Just something of enough substance that she could go out and start a quick, stimulating rally! That was all she'd asked for; so why is it that she'd been trying for hours upon end to write one and come out with nothing but more cross-outs than words?

In the past, this had always been her method of escape. Whenever she was upset—whenever she felt the need to abscond from a bad day—she'd always immerse herself in her words. Throwing herself into speech writing—she always felt that she was completely _untouchable_. In those time, she was the world's most ascendant being. And then the time to share her work with the people would come… nothing had ever raised her up more than hearing the shouts of the citizens she had single-handedly spurred. It wasn't knowing that she was the one they depended on in that moment that drove her into such an exhilarated, relishing state; oh no, she would never _dare_ become contradictory of herself as feeling the same way the very power-hungry tyrants she criticized. It wasn't even the adrenaline rush she got in the many times she'd been chased by the police succeeding her self-created demonstration. No—it was the knowledge that her words had unlocked the spark of revolt in the people she spoke before; the fact that they _heard _the things she said and looked at her as if she were someone worth listening to. And worse yet, _he_ used to look at her like that; but—

'_Silence, Lynette! Do not forget that you are nothing but a _hypocrite _to him!' _she snarled at herself; causing the thought to retreat in terror and allowing her to return to the concept she had been concentrating on.

Dialogues… assemblies… providing information and hope to the citizens of Paris… this is what she had always done when she needed to forget. And now… now there was _nothing_.

The masterful loom of the weaver of words was snarled, knotted, and even… snapped completely in some areas.

But she stared burningly down at her tools of the trade; not willing to be beaten by the white blank page that gawked mockingly up at her. She picked up the pen once more, opting to try a different approach; drawing ties to historical events and figures to the present dilemma of their unfortunate way of life. It was a method she had not used often in the past; but when she had, had found it to be as easy to write as slicing through butter. Henry had told her of it; it had been the lesson tactic of one of his few actually esteemed university professors.

'_Ladies and gentlemen__ Friends; what do you know of Alexander the Great? Probably that he was an ancient ruler of Macedonia; and that his swift-conquering empire was one of the largest in recorded history._ _But did you know of his brutality? The cold heart hidden behind his glorious strategical intelligence and bright, profound eyes? A great mind on a military standpoint—but when you think of the __spirits__prides__sentiments __lives he took to get to his goal—' _

The page was torn in half and thrown on the floor before she could even finish her current sentence. For what did any of that have to do with the contemporary state of the world? Besides, it had begun to greatly reflect what had happ—

'_Oh no you don't!' _she inwardly growled. She shoved the notion to the back of her head, then began anew;

'_Some of you may have heard stories of the Revolution from the elders of your families; or perhaps you were even a first-hand witness of its horrors. All of this being said; I'm sure you will all stir in recognition when I say the infamous name 'Robespierre'. And I'm also sure that you will agree with me when I say that while I fully support what they had originally fought for; I also believe that the violence it ended in was shamefully unnecessary. This is what happens when a few men grow ravenous for power; accusations are made and an explosive dispute follows—and before long she has walked out on the very man she'd sworn to love with her heart as slaughtered by his declarations as the victims of Robespierre's guillot—'_

And as her senses returned and she began to process what it was she'd just so furiously begun writing; she abruptly jumped up from her desk as if the paper had grown a mouth and bitten her. She had just _subconsciously _started to let all of her riled, perplexed, and dejected thoughts pour onto the paper; her cognitions of him penetrating one of the most reliable and resilient defense mechanisms she'd ever had.

And all of a sudden, it hit her like a boulder in her chest; the reason behind her writer's block. And she could have set her own desk on fire in the blazing acrimony she felt subsequently.

First he had stolen her heart, then her dignity, and now the most precious thing she held inside of her; her words. She had never, _ever_ had such speechlessness before he'd come along!

She could hardly believe he'd really wounded her _this_ deep. She'd never been unable to contrive orations because of internal sorrow before. God; why must his memory haunt her so? Why must she loathe him and worry for him and still feel guilty when he'd made it very clear what he thought of her in return? Why must the universe be so cruel as to place him where she had once been unstoppable; in the world of her rousing statements?

And worse still; why could she still not despise the bastard for putting her through all this? Why was she unable to forget him; instead of swift flashes of his face appearing in everything she did?

And as she threw her pen, paper, and ink into the desk drawer—shutting it away in ashamed, horrified defeat—she realized that all she wanted in that moment in time was to be struck by some divine power; erasing all memory of him. Then perhaps she wouldn't be at a loss for words— something that had once come to her as naturally as breathing. Then perhaps she could once again throw herself fully and completely into service to her first true love; Patria.

It was a foolish desire; but she prayed for it anyway. All she wanted was a vindicated mind; reopened to that which she had lost. All she wanted was _at least _the return of her words so that she could breathe again.

~o~0~o~

_Cause I still don't know how to act  
Don't know what to say  
Still wear the scars like it was yesterday  
But you're long gone…_

**A/N: Whuh-oh... you know things have gotten absolutely, positively serious when Lynette loses her WORDS...**

**And with that in mind, please take note that while I was writing this chapter, I used the strikethrough option on Word to cross out some of the words in her speeches; but when I tried to use that option in here it wouldn't show up. So, instead I just underlined all of the words that our dear Netta has crossed out. So just remember that the underlining is not for emphasis, it is to represent a word that has been scribbled out in her frustration. **

**Song of the day is 'Long Gone and Moved On'! (Think I've used that one before... but I'm using several more than once. Sorry, but after a while I ran out of songs. XD ) R&R, por favor? S'il vous plait? Per favore? L**


	11. Chapter 11

"Please, good M'sieur; another?" Enjolras elided incoherently; what had begun as an cantankerous demand now softening to a pathetic, slurred plead.

"Another, my friend? You've ingested nine mugs already." the bartender asked warily.

"Yessir. I need… I need…" he began, breathing heavily.

"You don't _need_ anything more than what you've already had. And even just that is immensely unhealthy."

"No… I do needit. I haven't… haven't…"

"Not to mention you've been here every single night for the past week and a half. As much as we may dislike it; that much drinking isn't good for us, my good man."

"No… b'cause I haven't _f—forgotten _her yet. I need t'get her outta m'head." Enjolras babbled, clumsily grabbing the man's arm and looking him in the eyes desperately. The bartender's own gaze softened in understanding. "Ah… trouble with love, eh? You're not the first to be chased here by such problems." he said, handing him his next round. Enjolras grabbed it readily and took two large gulps; hardly feeling the way the heavy liquor burned his throat anymore. All he could think about was her. A week and a half had passed and she still hadn't come home to him; and hope for this miraculous event had long since drained from his body. He'd drunk himself senseless every night; and though the exorbitance of his actions had begun to take their toll—making him feel as though he'd been held underwater for far too long and hit over and over with the butt of a musket… simultaneously—the discomfort and haziness was still not enough to clear his head. Every moment after that encounter with the prostitute several nights ago had been spent debating whether or not he should just toughen up and go get her himself; but whenever he began to decide that this was the solution, his own fear or his surrounding friends would stop him. It was a hellish cycle that was just as—if not more—tortuous than the alcohol's dire side effects.

His head might as well have been split clear down the middle for the shooting pain he felt, he got dizzy every time he made a move, and he considered himself lucky if he actually found his way home every night; and yet she was still everywhere he looked.

So why—after it had failed to serve its original purpose countless times already—he was still sitting here drowning himself in ale was beyond him.

He quickly finished his current tankard down to the very last drop; slapping it back down on the table. His stomach had begun to churn insalubriously; but he quietly asked the man for another. Mayhap if he got any more inebriated, he'd finally get bold and intrepid enough to go find Lynette. Maybe if he finally just lost himself completely to the brandy he'd been guzzling; he'd manage to suffocate any doubts left in his mind and go fix what he should've fixed a week and a half ago. For—after all—Chassé, Beaupré, and Gorneau had all been engaged in their own affairs tonight; so there would be no one to talk him out of it or physically stop him. And they'd been concerned with leaving him completely alone in this tousled, volatile state for this very reason; but he'd somehow managed to assure them that he'd be just fine on his own and that they'd done enough for him already.

So if only his last few rounds had been brewed with some much needed valor; perhaps he'd be shuffling to her doorstep instead of sitting here beneath his inescapable cloud of cowardice, shame, despondency, and self-pity.

Deep down, a small part of him knew that his reasoning made no sense; that nothing he was doing was either productive or helpful. But he was just so lost… so miserably disoriented… he didn't know what else to do with himself. The golden haired rebel felt inept, vulnerable, and petrifyingly flummoxed; an agonized, abolished Apollo.

He took another swig; and without warning, her face came to mind. Her beautiful, striking, fervid face—ridden with pain and staring at him with a look of utter, devastated betrayal; tears rolling down her usually so grin-worn cheeks. His stomach lurched in torment, and he could tangibly feel its contents churning along with it. He groaned, making the bartender turn to look at him. "Mon dieu, Monsieur; you're as pale as a phantom!" the man exclaimed.

"I think I need… air…" Enjolras mumbled; struggling to get to his feet. But as he stood up, his head began spinning and he could vaguely hear a man's low gasp before all went black.

_His eyes fluttered open, and he was greeted by a warm, soft light flooding his vision. He blinked a few times, trying to get his eyes to adjust. As he waited for this; he abruptly realized that everything but a slight dizziness was gone from his body. There were no headaches, no cloudiness of sight; you could easily say that all other signs of drunkenness had completely vanished. _

_He sat up slowly; just _waiting_ for the reeling to hit him. But it didn't; and—suspicious as he was of this sudden, impossible enigma—he cautiously turned his head to look around. And what he saw nearly sent him spinning again. _

_He was sitting on the familiar floor of l'Café Musain. All around him were the chairs, tables, and unmistakably recognizable sights of their old rendezvous. _

_The thought sent a sudden, searing pain through him as his friends came to mind; something he'd slowly begun to let go of when _she'd _been around. But now she was gone, they were dead, and he was all alon—_

_ "Whatcher doin' over there on the floor, Enjolras?" someone boomed from behind him. _

_He froze; eyes snapped open to the size of saucers. It couldn't be…_

_ "Are you honestly too drunk to have seen him fall, Grantaire? I worry for you…" _

_But it was. He whirled around to see all eight of Les Amis staring back at him. He caught Grantaire's eye; and the merry drunk instantly began roaring with laughter. "Look at you, mate; you look as bewildered as Marius! You find yourself some ghost of a girl, too?" _

_ "Gr—Gr—Grant…" Enjolras stammered, gaze boring into his cocky and at times irritating friend. _

_ "Gr…antaire? Yep, that's me. Very good, Enjolras! Now; who's this?" Grantaire said teasingly; pointing to Combeferre, who shoved his arm away. His oldest friend shook his head at the drunkard; then turned and walked towards Enjolras. "You alright there, my friend? That was a hard fall you took." _

_ "Combeferre?" Enjolras whispered; staring up at his childhood companion. Combeferre chuckled, holding out his hand. "The one and only. Are you sure you didn't hit your head—" _

_But he couldn't even finish his sentence before Enjolras stood up and enveloped him in a bone-crushing embrace; the embrace only a man whose soul was nearly lifeless with grief could possibly find the strength in relief to give. Combeferre was shocked by his friend's unexpected, desperate action; but he simply smiled and clapped the back of his lifelong best friend. _

_ "But… he doesn't even have a concussion! Perhaps minor amnesia? And yet he shows no symptoms of any physical damage!" Enjolras heard from behind Combeferre; opening his eyes when he felt someone poking at his head. He couldn't help himself; he laughed. "I'm fine, Joly. But thank you for your prognosis." _

_ "Are you sure? Your pupils look normal, but nothing hurts?'" _

_ "No; no unintentional impairments here." Enjolras chuckled, putting his hand on the medic's shoulder. _

_ "Except, of course, for your unhealthy obsession with books and your aversion to women. But if that hasn't changed by now; I fear it never will." _

_ "Well, we can't all be an entrancing casanova, Courfeyrac. _Some_ of the world's men have to be responsible." Enjolras said amusedly; raising an eyebrow at the womanizer. _

_ "But responsible is _so_ boring!" Grantaire drawled, hobbling up from behind and draping his arm around Courfeyrac's shoulders. _

_ "And yet—Grantaire—denying responsibility is practically an _invitation _to become an ill-starred man like me." Lesgles piped up. _

_ "But it's different with you, Lesgles. You've just always been as unlucky as Macbeth." Jean-Prouvaire laughed at the bald man. _

_ "Like the time I made you a fan for your sister for Christmas, and you set it afire cooking the holiday supper?" Feuilly grinned jestingly at them. Lesgles crossed his arms, glaring at them. "Point taken, gentlemen; now you've had your fun."_

_ "But I haven't! Remember the time you and I were walking home from here, and that woman walked up to you and slapped you across the cheek, mistaking you for her adulterous husband?" Bahorel reminded him painstakingly, eyes gleaming in amusement beneath his thick eyebrows. _

_ "The time I had to very embarrassingly explain to her that she had struck the wrong man, awkwardly wish her luck in finding him, and then subsequently promise you that I would never speak of it again?" Lesgles said, exasperated; his entire head turning beet red. _

_ "The very same! And up until now; you were doing so well at keeping that promise!" Bahorel continued teasingly through all the others' good-natured laughter. _

_Enjolras watched them bicker with a huge grin on his face, laughing right along with the others just as he used to. He was just so happy to see them all again; to be there in l'Café with his closest friends feeling exactly how it used to feel. Right now, in this moment, it was as if nothing catastrophic had ever happened. As if none of these great men had been killed at the foot of the barr—_

_ "Oh my God; am I dead?" Enjolras gasped suddenly; silencing all of the men surrounding him. And with that outcry, they all preceded to look at him as if he had grown a second head. _

_ "Uh… pardon?" Feuilly asked him, brow furrowed in confusion. _

_ "You all… you were…" Enjolras began, flustered; but then he stopped himself, realizing how unstable he would sound should he finish the statement. He was here with his friends, wasn't that all that should matter? _

_ "Never mind. It's just nice to see you all again." he corrected himself, smiling at them. They looked at him strangely—half-smiles on their faces—before Grantaire so… eloquently articulated what the majority of them were thinking. "Again? It's hardly been a day, Enjolras! It's not like we've been living in America and have only just come back for a visit!" _

_ "I know; I'm just very blessed to have such good, loyal friends surrounding me." Enjolras continued, patting the shoulder of his friend's husky, wine-stained garments. Grantaire raised an eyebrow, then burst out laughing; the thunderous laugh Enjolras had once found loud and disruptive, but now couldn't believe he was hearing again. "What's gotten into you, Enjy? You sound like a sighing fool!" _

_Jean-Prouvaire glared at Grantaire; smacking him in the side of the head. "Ow! Wha'was that for?" the drunkard howled. Jean-Prouvaire didn't bother to answer him before turning to Enjolras. "I disagree; I think that was inspiringly put, Enjolras. But I do admit such statements are rather out of character for you; unless they have to do with revolutions, of course." the poet winked. _

_ "That is true. I don't know; perhaps that fall gave me a new sight on life." Enjolras joked, forcing a laugh. _

'Or perhaps you all died under my command, and getting another chance to see you again has given me an exultant revelation.'

_ "Ah, perhaps it did. Mon dieu, Joly; he's fine! There's no need to go looking for your tools." Combeferre chuckled; calling after the medical student as he began inching towards his bag. _

_ "Or perhaps our friend Enjolras has been… enlightened_… _by some_one." _Courfeyrac interjected, raising an eyebrow in genial accusation. _

_ "What do you mean, Courfeyrac?" Bahorel asked, eyes darting over to Enjolras and looking him over. _

_ "Oh… I think you all know _exactly_ what I mean." Courfeyrac smirked devilishly. _

_All eyes turned to their blonde leader; everything from curiosity to bewilderment thriving inside them. But after a moment of silence, Jean-Prouvaire declared, "I think you're right, Courfeyrac! But how is it possible?" _

_ "The righteous Enjolras head-ever-heels for a living, breathing woman? I don't know, Jean; it is beyond my comprehension!" Courfeyrac chortled; unable to contain his hilarity any longer. _

"_Well bless my drunkard's heart; Enjolras in love?" Grantaire burst out; baying with laughter. While the pair nearly toppled over in mirth, the rest just stared at Enjolras in blithe surprise. _

_ "Is it true, Enjolras? Have you really found that special femme?" Feuilly asked, eyebrows arched. _

_Enjolras said nothing. Their words had made the carefree joy of seeing them again fade; making him remember what he had been drinking to earlier that day. Yes— he had found that "special femme"—but she was gone now. He had ruined all they'd had in a moment of blind rage. _

_ "Enjolras? You with us?" Lesgles asked him; waving a hand in front of his face. Enjolras shook his head, determined to clear away his depression long enough to enjoy what time he had been given with his supposedly deceased friends. He still wasn't sure if he was dead—all of that alcohol finally shutting down his vital organs—but for now, he was going to give the whole, eerie situation the benefit of the doubt and try not to think of the possibility that his last moments on Earth had been spent in a dingy tavern. _

_ "Yes; forgive me. I just got a little lost in my thoughts." he explained, smiling at them. _

_ "How dreadfully like you, mon ami." Combeferre chuckled, clapping his back once more. _

_ "Yes, yes; Enjolras with his deep cognitions and wise, stirring words. That aside; what's her name?" Courfeyrac asked eagerly. _

_Enjolras looked around at his friends' curious, expectant expressions; and mentally sighed before saying, "Lynette." He waited for a reaction; some kind of sign of recognition. But there was none. Obviously, they were trapped in some paradoxical timeframe _before _his former fiancé had come along and turned their entire operation upside down. _

_ "Ah, Lynette. Signifies 'nymph' or 'idol'." Jean-Prouvaire commented languorously. _

_ "She'd better be an idol; nothing less than that would even catch a second glance from our Enjolras!" Joly teased. _

_ "Tell us, Enjolras; is she as fair as the spring countryside?" Grantaire garbled playfully; glancing over at Jean-Prouvaire in some unseen joke. _

_ "Oi! Quit poking fun at my sonnet! I thought that line was one of its best!" Jean-Prouvaire snapped. _

_ "I'm sorry, Jeany; my deepest laments soar like birds to your side." Grantaire simpered, a dare in his eyes. The usually so placid Jean-Prouvaire grew red with an ugly mix of anger and embarrassment. As the two began quarreling; the others' reactions ranged from rolling their eyes to chuckling quietly to themselves, but before long Courfeyrac stepped forward, saying over the top of the heated debate, "But do tell us about her, Enjolras; We're all dying to know what sort of woman has _you _under her spell." _

_ "You just want to know if she's pretty so you can start planning on swooping in should something go wrong." Combeferre snorted before shooting a knowing look to Enjolras. Coureyrac gave only a swaggering shrug in response, and Enjolras chuckled. "Well, she's… she's beautiful. She beautiful… and kind… and one of the smartest women I've ever met. She longs for France's liberation as much as we do… or, so I—"_

_ "Of _course _the girl you fall in love with would be some witty rebelette." Courfeyrac cut off Enjolras's rather melancholy statement; bursting out laughing. _

_ "And yet _Enjolras _thinks she's beautiful. The very same Enjolras who has never noticed a lady's countenance before in his _life_. Doesn't that tell you anything, Courfeyrac?" Feuilly pointed out. _

_ "Well, if she had brains; I'm sure Enjolras would call her a goddess _regardless_ of her looks." Courferac retorted, but was shortly interrupted by Combeferre. _

_ "Gentlemen; forgive me, but I don't think we let Enjolras finish his account. Do continue, my friend." he stated, smiling encouragingly at Enjolras—who could only grimace in response as he thought of what he was going to say next. "Well, I _thought _she longed for freedom and equality; but we got into a little dispute over the matter and now, not only am I not sure anymore, but she left me in her frustration." _

_ "Wait a moment; you were already _living _together? How did all of this happen without any of us hearing a word about it?" Lesgles asked in shocked amazement. _

_ "He probably just didn't want us to know he—the impenetrable Enjolras—had been struck by Cupid." Joly said; jovial eyes twinkling. _

_ "Yes of course; but everyone leaves clues when dealing with something like this whether they mean to or not! And yet there was not one trace; I mean, did _anyone _know Enjolras was living with this girl? Jean-Prouvaire? Grantaire?" Lesgles continued pressing, directing his question at the disputing pair. Enjolras had to suppress a groan as they snapped to attention; Grantaire looking as if he would drop dead from the irresistible satire of the situation. _

_ "Living with her, eh? No; I didn't, Lesgles. But congratulations, Enjolras! You've joined us in the world of real men now! Tell us; is she any good in—" _

_ "I think we're missing the point here, frères." Combeferre intervened; and Enjolras's look of horror turned to one of indebted gratitude in an instant. "Did you not hear the last part of his explanation? The girl _left _him. So what _should _we be doing right now instead of discussing why Enjolras failed to mention it to us?" he finished, looking around at his comrades. _

_ "You're right, Combeferre. Anyone have any advice for our resilient leader here?" Bahorel inquired, gesturing out to them. Courfeyrac wasted no time in giving his input; "Make her regret leaving, of course. Try walking past her window with another pretty dame on your arm!" _

_ "Are you mad? From his descriptions; it is obvious that this girl will not fall victim to petty envies! She'll only be _more _repelled!" Jean-Prouvaire fired at him. _

_ "Au contraire, Jeany," Courfeyrac countered, "a woman's jealousy can at times be a man's best friend. It'll drive her wild until she comes _running _back to him." _

_ "You're speaking of women as one would speak of an animal! The fairer sex is so much more intricate than that!" Jean-Prouvaire protested. _

_ "Then what is it _you _suggest to our friend here, my little poet?" Courfeyrac queried in near-exasperation. _

_ "Do something special for her to show her how sorry you are for your actions!" the young romantic suggested. _

_ "Like what, exactly?" Courfeyrac snorted. _

_ "Oh, I don't know. Enjolras likes to read; perhaps standing beneath her window sill and reciting a romantic Shakespearian passage?" _

_ "But why does _he _have to be the one apologizing? From where I stand, it sounds like _she _was the one who was wrong." _

_ "Because it's the chivalrous thing to do!" _

_ "But if he's _smart_, he'll let her come to him. That way, his pride is preserved and yet he still gets his girl back!" _

_ "Through manipulative jealousy?"_

_ "Well have you got anything better to put forth _besides _poetry?" _

_ "Well, it could really be anything; as long as it's not treating her like a _dog!_" _

_ "Dogs, women; most days I can't tell the difference!" Grantaire chimed in with a booming laugh. _

_ "That's because you've never taken the time to get to _know _any of your women, Grantaire." Jean-Prouvaire told him irritably. _

_ "Well while I may not know many women personally, I sure as hell know a lot about women!" Grantaire defended; a suggestive gleam in his eye. _

_ "Well then what's _your _recommendation?" Jean-Prouvaire questioned him, and Enjolras winced in advance. _

_ "Find 'er, kiss 'er, leave her awestruck; and let it all work itself out from there. Who knows; maybe if he plays his cards righ' he'll even get a li'l—" _

_ "How is that going to solve anything?" Jean-Prouvaire burst in vexation. _

_ "And how is getting down on your knees at her door like a desperate fool any better? Oh wait, forgive me; after all, poetry is the spark in the sweltering fires of love." Grantaire quoted mockingly. The parody of his writing set the struggling author off once more; and soon he and Grantaire were at it again—Courfeyrac joining in soon after. Combeferre and sighed and Bahorel covered his face with his hand and shook his head as they watched them; but surprisingly, Feuilly turned away from the miniscule battle to smile at Enjolras. "Now, I'm just a lowly fan-maker," he began, "but I can tell you that if it were me, I'd go find her to talk through what happened and patch things up from there." _

_Enjolras reached forward with a grin and shook his friend's hand, returning his beam. "That is the most helpful advice I've heard all week." he told him. "Thanks, Feuilly." _

_ "My pleasure. I hope it all works out for you, my friend." Feuilly replied contently. _

_ "I second that. Let us know how it all plays out; alright, Enjolras?" Combeferre added, stepping forward next to Feuilly. _

_Enjolras couldn't answer for a moment as a lump swelled up in his throat. He glanced around at the wise, reliable, benevolent men around him; looking and acting so as they used to. And yet he would never be able to tell them how it had ended for he and Lynette; for they were all dead. _

'But they'll know… they say you can see everything from where it is they've gone.' _a small part of him whispered. _

_He finally managed a nod, laboriously saying, "I will. Thank you both so much." _

_ "Happy to oblige, Enjolras. Now go get her." Combeferre grinned at him. _

_Enjolras gave them each one last embrace before turning to the door; telling them to thank the others for him as well. He paused only once more to look back at the dimly lit tavern full of his lively, admirable brothers; trying to capture the moment for his memories. But then he spun back towards the exit and stepped out of the door, feeling the strangest sense of falling…._

And jolting into sentience. He sat up a bit too fast and found his head reeling once more; announcing his arrival back into the real world. His entire body pulsed with the familiar twinges caused by the many pints he'd just consumed; and he realized that he'd knocked himself unconscious with his overindulgence of alcohol.

And… that all of that had been nothing but a dream.

A tiny part of his brain had known this all along; but that didn't mean it didn't come as a shock when he looked around him and saw himself _not_ beneath the welcoming roof of l'Café ABC, but in the same bar he'd spent every night in for the past, tediously despondent week. That the man who had just caught his eye was _not _one of Les Amis; but the kindly bartender.

"Y'alright there, Monsieur? That was a hard fall you took." he asked him.

Enjolras blinked at him like a bumbling idiot; still a bit disarrayed. But the bartender only chuckled at his lack of response, saying, "A bit of perplexity is expected; don't you worry. You just sort of collapsed; and I didn't know what else to do with you other than prop you back up against the counter here. So, that's what I did. Well, that and pray you weren't dead."

"It all felt so real…" Enjolras breathed; eyes gazing off at nothing in particular.

The bartender could tell that nothing he'd said had registered with the blonde man before him even the slightest bit; so he simply shook his head with a small smile and went back to polishing the clean mugs beneath the counter. This sort of vagueness was common with drunks who'd passed out because of their abundant intake; and therefore he wasn't worried. Besides, this man had just paid enough to feed his family for a week; as long as he was still breathing, everybody had won tonight.

As soon as he'd taken a few moments to compose his thoughts; Enjolras swiftly realized that though his vision had been just and only that—that didn't mean that he couldn't take the advice of his late friends. After all—he'd said it himself—it had been the best he'd received all week. Even if it had come from an intoxicated phantasmagoria of Feuilly.

Abruptly, he got up and waited but a second for the vertigo to pass before turning on his heel to the door.

"Where ya going, Monsieur? You sure you're well enough to be walking?" the bartender called after him.

"I… I know now, M'sieur! They told me! I know what I have t'do!" Enjolras digressed in excitement.

"Alright then! Er… good luck, I suppose!" the other man shouted to him; casually scrubbing at the cup in his hands to hide his confusion. The best way to deal with the crazed ramblings of drunkards was to agree with all that was said and remind them where to come should their plan not work out.

~o~0~o~

_And I know that I'm drunk but I'll say the words  
And she'll listen this time even though they're slurred  
Dial her number and confess to her  
I'm still in love! But all I heard was NOTHING…_

…_Every drunk step and path leads me to her door_

_If she sees how much I'm hurting_

_She'll take me back for sure…_

**A/N:**** ZOMMGGGG IT'S LES AMIS!**

**I mean… *ahem* look who I wrote into this chapter? My favorite barricade boys! I love those guys so much; there was no way they WEREN'T going to make a cameo in one of the extras at some point. And they'll probably be back, because I cannot get over how fun they are to write. X) **

**And looks like hearing from **_**them **_**to go get her back was just what our Blondinette needed… and there's no one to stop him now, either. But how will his visit fare? You'll just have to keep reading to see. ;) And R&R if you wish YOU were an Ami de l'Abaisse! Or if you want to give me advice… that works too… ~DonJuana**

**P.S: Song of the day is once again 'Nothing'! **


	12. Chapter 12

Perhaps it was simply his fresh hangover messing with his sense of time; but Enjolras felt as if it took him _weeks_ to stumble his way to Lynette's home. And the fact that he was so disoriented that he got lost twice didn't help matters either. But nevertheless; he made it just as the sun was beginning its ascent into the morning sky. As he approached the door of the building; he suddenly perceived a figure pulling on his coat as he exited. Now, he was still a bit too cloudy-minded to see the man's face, but he looked familiar—

"What the _hell _are you doing here?"

And his intuition was correct. It was Lynette's brother. He shuffled a few steps closer, taking in the boy's angry expression and tense demeanor. "I need… I need t'see Lynette." he mumbled, pointing to the door. It was silent for a few moments as Henry looked him up and down; his look of ire quickly turning to one of insulted disgust. "Are you… are you _drunk_?" he spat at him. But Enjolras didn't answer him; eyes locked firmly on the door. "I need t'see Lynette." he repeated as if Henry hadn't heard him the first time.

"No. Now get out of here before I kill you right here on the street." Henry growled through grit teeth; grabbing Enjolras's arm and pushing him back a few feet. But Enjolras was determined to do what should have been done the second after she'd walked out— determined to pursue Combeferre's urging to "get her back".

"Where is she?" he practically groaned, catching Henry's eye pleadingly. But Lynette's brother simply glared back coldly—positively enraged—before yelling, "Safe from _you_! Now leave or I'm alerting the police!"

'_Safe from _you_!' _the words pierced the former revolutionary like a knife jab to the heart. What exactly had happened to her since he'd last seen her? He'd only been focusing on how much he missed her and how ashamed he was this past week… he'd never thought once of what she might be going through because of him.

But the thought only spurred him further. He needed to fix this; if she was suffering as a result from the things he'd said, he'd drop to his knees if that would express to her the fullness of his sorrow.

"Please; I _need _to see her!" he was begging now; desperate for the irate man before him to let him pass.

"I said _go_! You're not welcome here!" Henry roared; never once breaking his burning stare. This man had obliterated his most beloved sister. And now he was beseeching to talk to her? Coming to her _drunk_? His arm twitched; fingers clenched.

"No, please; if you'll just listen to—"

But he couldn't even finish his plea before Henry drew back his arm and punched him in the jaw, knocking him to the ground. Enjolras's hand flew to the area Henry's fist had connected with; and though he could already feel it swelling and bruising, he hardly felt the pain. Not after what he'd been through this week.

"Do you have any idea what you did to her? How much pain you caused; how much damage you did? Well, if you don't leave in the next thirty seconds I'd be _happy _to begin showing you." Henry snarled threateningly.

Enjolras staggered to his feet without another protest; but mostly because he physically _couldn't_ speak; partially from the inflammation of the right side of his face, and partially because he couldn't possibly argue when what Henry had said was the complete, whole truth. As he shuffled away from her home and furious brother, he realized that the revelation of how wounded she was because of _him_ had marred him much more than Henry had.

And yet he wouldn't give up that easy; even this realization could not stop him from longing to apologize. Make him consider the fact that perhaps she was better off without him, yes; but it could not stop him from loving her.

~o~0~o~

_Now they say I'm wasting my time  
Cause you're never coming home  
But they used to say the world was flat and how wrong was that…_

**A/N:**** And the record for the shortest chapter of all time goes to…. MISS DONJUANA19! **

***bows* Oh thank you, thank you all…**

**Alright… had to get that out of the way. XD Now onto the good stuff. **

**Awww… look at Henry getting all viciously protective! He's like a guard dog… can be super adorable, but also capable of tearing throats out. Seems like he got Enj pretty good… but apparently not good enough to knock all hope out of him. Anyone especially relieved? A show of hands? ;) **

**Also wanted to note how drastically Henry's personality is going to change in the next Extra I release; I was writing it the other day and mentally kicking myself for releasing this one first—because it's going to be difficult for y'all to go BACK in time and pretend none of this DS has happened yet. Totally my fault; I'll plan better next time. :P **

**R&R s'il vous plait? I'll be your best barricade buddy. :) ~DonJuana**


	13. Chapter 13

_Slam. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. _

Lynette looked up as she heard her the front door bang shut violently; startled out of her train of thought. "Henry? Is that you?" she called.

"Yes; I'm home." he replied back; and she was surprised by the terseness coating his tone. She got up immediately, walking into the sitting room where he was practically tearing off his coat and throwing it onto the couch. She folded her arms, raising an eyebrow. "Hard day at work?" she asked.

"No. I'm fine. Where's Mama?" he dismissed curtly.

"She went out to pick up some groceries. And if not because of an aggravating day spent toiling over factory machinery; why are you so tense?" Lynette inquired, refusing to let him dodge the subject at hand.

"Just leave it be, Lynette."

"I don't think so. You and Mama have listened to my moping for the past week and a half; I'm not about to lose the chance to return the favor."

"Well what if I don't want to talk about it?"

"It's not healthy to keep your troubles bottled up inside you."

"There's truly no way out of this with you, is there?"

"Not that I can see." she half teased; though she made sure to retain her serious expression.

"Trust me, Netta; you really don't want to know."

"Try me."

"Ok, fine. _Enjolras_. Not so sure of yourself now, are you?" Henry snapped at her.

Lynette paled at the sound of his name; knowing what it and her brother's sharp frustration must have meant. Henry saw the color drain from her face and his irritated guise shattered in an instant. "Oh God; I'm sorry, Lynette. That was horrible of me." he muttered shamefully.

"It's alright. You… you saw him?" she whispered; suddenly finding the fraying button on her sleeve most fascinating.

"More than just saw." Henry snorted through grit teeth.

"And what did he say?" she questioned; surprised he could even hear her as her tone grew fainter and fainter.

"Not much… he was drunk. _Bumbling drunk. _Who does he think he is; coming here in that state—disrespecting you in that way? And then he'd bold enough to ask to see you?"

'…_to ask to see you?'_

He'd asked to see her. He'd come to talk this through.

'_Probably just so he could sweet talk his way into your forgiveness with his endearing words.' _a part of her spat; reminding her bluntly of why she'd left in the first place. Henry was right; how dare he waltz his way here after all this time! After what he'd done to her; he figured he could just come parading down to her home and expect to enchant her with his speeches until she broke and forgave him? And _drunk_, no less?

And yet… that one, simple fact bothered her; shot up a flag in her mind. In all the time she'd known him, Enjolras had never once touched alcohol. And before she'd come along, she knew of only two other occasions his friends had persuaded him to drink—and Marius, who had been the one to tell her of these cases, admitted that when it came to ale, Enjolras hardly knew the meaning of the word. So if he _had _come here ridiculously inebriated, why? What had forced him to turn to a method of extrication that he'd hardly _touched _before?

"…and then damn man still wouldn't budge, so I finally just knocked him to the ground and—Netta, are you alright?" Henry looked at her anxiously after realizing that nothing of his account had disclosed with her. Lynette blinked a few times; trying to reconverge on the conversation with her brother before replying, "Oh! Yes… I'm fine. Just… did he… um, say anything else?" and feeling weak and foolishly sheepish for doing so.

"No. He just kept repeating how he _needed _to see you… _needed _to speak to you… it was absolutely pathetic. He was practically _begging _me to let him by." Henry responded, shaking his head in disgust.

Lynette was silent. There were so many emotions building up inside of her that it had begun to physically ache; and worse yet, half of them she hated for being there. The ones of pity, anxiety, and longing… she wanted to kick herself for even allowing them to exist. But the fact that frustration, anger, depression, and betrayal were still there stopped her from doing so; for at least this meant she had _some _sense left in her.

"Lynette? I'd really enjoy hearing _your_ opinion on this." Henry said, breaking her train of thought. She looked up at him and instantly saw the concern and dread in his eyes. The concern that she still loved the man that had reduced her to this. She knew that she couldn't let him see the much-loathed side of this "opinion" of hers; even when she wasn't entirely sure his worries were for nothing.

"Just… thank you, Henry. You're more of a brother than I deserve." she shot him a tired smile before stepping forward to embrace him.

"Oh, stop. I'm not all that wonderful. I'm just doing my job and protecting my sister." he said softly in reply.

'_But who is it she needs protecting _from_?' _she couldn't help thinking, '_him, or herself?'_

~o~0~o~

…_If it's the fighting you remember_

_or the little things you miss_

_I know you're out there somewhere_

_so just remember this…_

**A/N:**** Oh look! Another short chapter! But lots of important things in this chapter, folks… don't be fooled by its small size! **

**The main thing being Netta's conflicted indecision; which is a… good sign? Bad sign? What do **_**you**_** think? Besides "JUST HURRY UP AND SETTLE THIS ALREADY; WE'RE DYING OF SUSPENSE!", of course. ;)**

**Well, my good readers… I too am dying of the anticipation. Of revealing the ending, that is. And you know what that means… IT'S COMING SOON! Because I just can't wait much longer! But in the meantime, I hope you enjoy this little chappie filled with Lynette's racing mind and Henry's fierce protectiveness! :D R&R, if you please! ~DonJuana**


	14. Chapter 14

He waited but a day to sleep off his drunkenness and subsequent hangover before setting off once more towards Lynette's apartment. He'd put on clean clothes, combed his hair, and just overall made himself more presentable—though nothing could be done for the ugly green-purple bruise that had sprung to life on his face. He'd spent several hours going over what he would say—having a different dialogue relative to each person in her family who could be the one to answer the door prepared. And finally, he'd taken a deep breath and walked out the door before he could talk himself out of it. Though, he wasn't sure it was possible at this point; the desire to see her conquering his petty fears completely.

And as he stood at her door—the only thing standing in between him and his zealous, lovely inamorata—he had to restrain himself from just kicking the door in. He knocked as slow and calmly as he could; closing his eyes for but a second as he said a quick, silent prayer. His heart hammered almost unrealistically loudly in his chest as he heard someone shuffling about on the other side of the door; and his only wish in that moment was that it would be Lynette herself.

But it seemed luck was not on his side today.

"_You _again? You really have the _nerve _to show up here again?" Henry growled; both arms twitching impatiently as he contemplated wrapping them around Enjolras's throat.

"Listen, Henry; I know that you seem to despise me with every fiber of your being because of—" Enjolras began urgently, but Henry cut him off.

"_Seem _to? Hell _yes _I do!"

"And I completely understand that; what I did to your sister was inexcusable and my… intoxicated state yesterday surely didn't help matters. But please; if you'll just let me see her—"

"Perhaps your arrogant mind didn't wrap itself around this yesterday; but you're not welcome here, and _she doesn't _want _to see you. _You said it yourself; what you did was inexcusable." Henry glared threateningly.

"I want to hear that from _her_ lips! As soon as I do, I'll leave you all be forever." Enjolras retorted strainedly.

"Ha! I believe that about as much as you seem to believe _me_ when I say that she wants nothing to do with you…"

But Enjolras abruptly couldn't hear the last part of Henry's irate rant. Because she had just stepped into view over his shoulder.

The mere sight of her was enough to nearly stop his heart; for it swelled to the point of bursting as he drank her in. '_Mon dieu… she is so _beautiful_.' _he thought breathlessly. But the longer he stared at her, the more he realized that beautiful was not all she looked…

Her hair was pulled back in a braid; though it was frayed and mussed as if she hadn't bothered to fix it. Her shoulders hung forward as if carrying the weight of the world between them, making her look more petite and vulnerable than usual. Her face was pale and sullen as if she hadn't seen much food or sunlight for _weeks _instead of days; and her usually so brilliant, stunning eyes were bloodshot and blanketed in thick, dark bags. She looked as limp and tired as a cloth which had been scrubbed and violently wrung dry; and the disheartened, derelict frown that adorned her face as if it had been chiseled there in stone sent him over the edge.

He first paled in horror—for _he'd _done this to her; _he'd _broken a girl who had once been deemed unbreakable. He wished he could do something—go back in time and right his wrongs, beat himself senseless as reparation, _anything_—instead of letting her wither before him. And all because he'd lost himself in a moment of incited, irritable frustration and destroyed everything they'd built up for their new life together.

And then, he erupted into a mad struggle; unable to fight the wild desperation inside him any longer. "Lynette! Lynette! Oh God, Lynette; I'm so sorry. There aren't enough words in all of the world's languages put _together _to express how sorry I am." he implored; catching her eye as he attempted to push his way past Henry. He thought he heard the protective brother cry out in fury; but all he could concentrate on was the hurt, confusion, and hesitation in her eyes. All he could see was her.

"I didn't mean one thing I said; you mean more to me than anything else in this world and your talents never cease to awe me. I've gone mad—absolutely _mad_—without you! And I was such a coward… I should've come after you the minute you left. Letting you go was the single greatest mistake I've ever made." he continued; nearly choking on his words as her eyes widened. The emotions inside them were so plentiful that they were nearly unreadable; but he thought he saw a glimmer of belief dance through them. And the very thought of earning her forgiveness made his heart leap; spurred him on as he fought against the human wall between them.

"And I know that that night was born of the passions of none but rage. And that we both said things we shouldn't have. But living without you is something I can't do; so that's why I'm here—_begging _your forgiveness—and hoping that you'll come home." he finished; eyes so pleading that it was as if they had physically fallen to her feet.

Her mother entered the room then; putting a hand on Lynette's shoulder. Enjolras could tell that the expression on her face was meant to be a cold glare, but he saw the uncertainty in it; it was as if she were studying him painstakingly for any sign of a lie. "She _is _home." she said coolly after a moment; glancing from Enjolras to her daughter's blank, unyielding, tentative stare. But Enjolras looked right past her and into Lynette's deep, intelligent eyes. "Lynette, please. _Please._" he begged in a tone barely above a whisper; eyes dangerously close to welling up.

Lynette simply stood and stared back at him; too shocked and unsure to do anything else. He'd just said exactly what a part of her had secretly been hoping he'd say and _more_; he'd pursued her twice and was now fighting frantically just to apologize. Was this what she'd wanted? Was this the only thing she'd been waiting for? Could she possibly do as he was begging her and forgive him?

…After all he'd said? After he'd waited more than a _week _to finally apologize? After he'd come to her home drunk without the decency to wait until his inebriation passed?

The very inebriation that's existence made no sense considering Enjolras's distaste of alcohol. The very inebriation that had disappeared the day after he'd first come with it. The very inebriation he said he had turned to out of the _madness _of losing her.

She found that despite everything—despite the fact that his controversial behavior was making her debate _with herself_—she still could not hate him. But could she forgive him, either?

"Well go on, Netta; tell him to leave us all alone!" Henry huffed in his arduous struggle against his much-superior opponent.

She could feel the tears forming in her eyes as they bore into Enjolras's; and she opened her mouth to say the aforementioned only to find that she couldn't. She couldn't do it; she just couldn't tell him to leave her. Half of her believed every word he'd just said, but half of her remained on guard; too worried about the risks of taking him back.

So, she simply closed her eyes, furrowed her brow in a grimace, and turned her back to him.

"No! Netta, please! I love you, damn it! So much that this is _killing _me!" she heard him shout; and she had to put her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. Little did he—_or _she, in truth—know; this was killing her too. She took another dragging, excruciating step away.

"Lynette; I'm _begging _you. Please don't leave me again!" he moaned; watching her inch further and further away fearfully.

His words were like a knife in her side; reminding her that he was not the only one who had made mistakes. Mistakes that she now regretted wholeheartedly. But, with much effort, she continued walking towards her room. It was like she was in a trance. Every fiber of her was screaming at her to stop, to go back to him; but she didn't. She _couldn't. _

"No! Lynette!" he cried out.

"Is that not clear enough for you? Get out!" Henry yelled over top of him.

But that was the last thing she clearly heard before she slammed the door. She crumpled to the floor in a silent sob; leaning up against the door and listening to Enjolras shout her name over and over. And yet she could hardly focus on the lurid conversation going on outside; all of her thoughts were rapt on telling herself over and over why she had walked away.

Had Enjolras not been so intent on calling Lynette back into the room, he may have noticed Henry taking a step back; gaining the force necessary to smash into him—knocking him square in the torso—and slamming him back against the hallway wall. As Enjolras shrank back into a sitting position against the wall, Henry glared down at him, "And _stay _away this time!" before slamming the door. And then, all was quiet. He was left alone with the silence to taunt him; having failed at the one thing he'd vowed he would see success in. She was gone; he'd lost her. He'd truly wounded her to the point of it being unforgiveable.

And if he'd caused her that much pain, why did think he deserved her? He'd just seen first hand what this fight had done to her; she was better off without him.

She'd made her choice. And she'd chosen what was obviously healthier for her; living without him. And though he couldn't bring himself to accept it just yet—for the pain and shock bubbling up inside him—he knew he'd have to. Even though he knew for a fact he'd never be able to bring himself to let her go—to stop loving her—he slowly got to his feet and began trudging despondently away.

~o~0~o~

…_And it will be just like you were never gone…_

**A/N:**** …**

**Um… I honestly don't have much to say about this chapter. Except maybe, "Well, there you have it." Or *ahem* I guess, "HINTHINTHINT GUEZZWHATTHISISNTTHEENDYET!" **

**Either one works. ;)**

**Can I get some thumbs up or thumbs down for Enjolras's apology? I tried to make it as true to character as possible, but I wasn't sure if it turned out too OOC or not. **

**I'll try to remember to release the last few chapters within a day or two of each other this week; so be on the lookout for that. And also; you guys are liking the DS/E's, yes? Any suggestions? Things I should change? A review can be enchantingly informing, you know. :D ~DonJuana**


	15. Chapter 15

She couldn't take it. If she truly wanted to live without him, she wouldn't be sitting here mentally beating herself for turning away; wouldn't regret every single thing she'd done since she'd left him that dreadful night. She jumped to her feet—tears rolling down her face—and grabbed her bag (which had remained untouched since she'd arrived here); the forgiving side of her winning over her completely in one, jovial moment. He still loved her! He hadn't meant the things he'd said!

She threw open the door and barreled towards the flat's exit; hesitating for but a moment as she heard Henry call, "Lynette! Where are you going?"

"Yes, Henry! The answer is yes!" she blubbered before flying out the front door.

Henry watched her disappear with wide eyes; then turned with a yell and slammed his fist onto the table as he comprehended the meaning of her seemingly nonsensical words. Their mother eyed him in an almost… frightened bewilderment. "What does she mean? Henry, what's going on?"

"'Yes' she still loves him." he replied simply, putting his head in his hands.

~o~0~o~

…_How can I move on when I'm still in love with you?_

**A/N: ****Ok… I swear I intended to post this earlier in the week. Please don't throw fruit at me. :(**

**Anywhooo… well, there ya go. Looks like Netta's finally gotten ahold of herself. As you said, whichever kindly Guest reviewed my last chapter, "Enjolras did his part, and now Lynette has to do hers." (Thank you, by the way; whoever you are! I really appreciated your review! :D )**

**I for one was just about to yell, "Oh, just GO BACK TO HIM ALREADY!" and I'm the author. **

**But Guezzwhat… we're still not done! One or two chapters left, ladies and gents. Then I promise I'll move onto the next DS/E. XD **

**R&R, pleeease? Even if you want to remain anonymous; I still usually give shoutouts to those who do! (What's this, DonJuana? Bribery? What would Enjolras say…) :D ~DonJuana**


	16. Chapter 16

Never had a sunny, clear, crisp-aired autumn day felt so dismal to Enjolras. These sorts of days were usually so gloriously refreshing; and instead he felt as if the whole cheery, impeccable world was laughing at him. All he could think about was that she was gone… that she—

"Enjolras! Enjolras, wait!"

…was _calling his name_. Her voice rang out like the song of a thousand angels; breaking through the silence and depression hanging over him like the rays of the sun break through the overcast, grey darkness of a storm cloud. He turned slowly—trapped in a disconcerted state of incredulity—and there she was; sprinting towards him with her tousled hair flying out behind her. He could only stare—mouth agape—as she ran toward him; watch as she got closer and closer until he could see the glittering tears rolling down her cheeks. And just after he perceived this, she leapt into his arms; throwing her arms around his neck and crushing her lips to his. He had to take a moment to process what had just taken place; but after that he was wrapping his arms around her as tightly as he could without breaking her ribs and moving his lips most avidly against hers. The passion radiating off of them was evident, heated, and—most of all—welcoming; and as he felt it, he knew instantly that there was no way that it could be feigned. It wasn't over. He hadn't lost her!

"Mon dieu; I cannot even say how much I missed this." she moaned before Enjolras keenly claimed her mouth again. He kissed her as hungrily as a starved man for a moment more, then pulled away to breathlessly say, "Then why did you stay away for so long?" whilst using his thumbs to wipe away her tears.

It was as if something clicked in her mind—as if she were just remembering why she'd had to come running to catch him. "Yes… why did I? I hope you can forgive me for that. You see, you weren't the only one caught up in your fears of coming face to face; I… well, I was afraid that if I came crawling back, it would make me seem weak and love-sick; especially if you _had _meant the things you said." she murmured ashamedly. He pressed his lips to hers again, silencing her discomfited words and her now so petty fears for good. "No… never weak. Never. And I will say how much I regret everything however many times you see fit. You're the single most astonishing person in this world; and the fact that I degraded you—even if only in a mindless moment of blind anger—is a crime worthy of damnation." he whispered; eyes closed in bliss as he felt her steady breath on her face. And then she emitted one of the most lovely, sinfully tempting gasps of surprised joy he'd ever heard; his honest, affectionate words making her heart swell once more. She smiled up at him—her glittering eyes and pearly white teeth tacitly thanking him—and he couldn't help but beam irrepressibly back; her striking, gorgeous grin lighting up her entire face just as it always had. Her eyes were full of life once more; and she was so, _so _beautiful…

And he suddenly couldn't resist stealing another kiss. He felt her grin widen beneath his mouth; and after kissing him eagerly for a minute, she pulled away, saying, "Enjolras; people are staring." and artfully jerking her head to the side to indicate a bourgeois woman glaring at them as if they had reptilian tails. Enjolras pulled her closer until their foreheads touched, smiling devilishly. "Let them stare." he replied before craning his head down and pressing a gentle kiss to her neck; earning him two gasps—one of delight and amusement from Lynette, and one of mortified disgust from the bourgeois woman. He could hear Lynette giggling quietly, and after a few seconds of this intimate display, she said, "You always have been one to rebel, Blondinette. But perhaps we should spare this poor woman a heart attack and just go home."

~o~0~o~

…_and you'll come running to the corner_

'_cause you know it's all for you…_

**A/N:**** First, I'd like to give a shoutout to judybear236… thanks for all your support, m'dear! **

**And now as for the story…**

…**X) **

**I think I had a bit too much fun writing this chapter. Yayyy isn't it nice to have everyone all happy and adoring again? And yet this also shows how much I fail at writing angsty stories… they always seem to end with fluff. XD **

**And there's more fluff to come! I've got one more chapter in store for y'all, and am hoping to get it out if not tomorrow then within the next few days. **

**Can I get a "What What?" Or perhaps a few reviews? :) ~DonJuana**


	17. Chapter 17

"Augh!" Enjolras cried out; hand flying up to his tender, throbbing jaw.

"Oh no! I'm sorry; I know it's still sore." Lynette suppressed a giggled before reapplying the ice to it.

"No, I'm fine. You just surprised me, is all." Enjolras replied, brushing it off.

"No you're not. I'm so sorry that my brother did this to you." Lynette said sheepishly, biting her lip.

"Don't apologize; it's just a bruise. He was only trying to protect you… and it's more than understandable as to _why._" he responded tenderly; adoration and a bit of mischief shining in his eyes.

"And why might that be?" she inquired playfully; placing her hands on the arms of the chair he was seated in and leaning down over him.

"Because one; I hurt you and he was being the family you deserve, and two; you are so precious that _anyone _would jump at the chance to claim you and guard you as their own." he murmured blithely before reaching down behind her knees and sweeping her off her feet and into his lap.

"Well _one_; let it go, cher—that you apologized and still love me is all that matters. And _two_; are you included in that description?" she wondered, leaning her head into the crook of his neck and looking up at him with a small, blissful smile.

"In response to the first; I will not forget it, simply assign it a new purpose. And as for the second; _especially _me." he told her; his responding smile devious.

"And what is this aforementioned 'new purpose'?" she asked him; though she was having a difficult time forming an intelligible inquiry with him so intoxicatingly close. Enjolras grinned down at her as if sensing this unspoken thought; then began to close the space between them. He stopped when his breath was tickling her cheeks as he rested his face against hers only to breathe, "Learning experience." before finishing what he'd started and kissing her. He just couldn't get enough of her dulcet lips and ready actions; for after all, he'd thought that he would never again get to feel them. And this kiss deepened fast; her fingers ensnaring themselves in his hair as he held onto the back of her head and lower back with a still grip. Their movements grew more vigorous as if trying to make up for the time they'd lost being apart; and perhaps this was why they didn't hear the first few knocks on the door. Their visitor waited for a few moments—listening for some sign of life and giving _them _a few more gratifying seconds in peace—before knocking again; more urgently this time. Lynette was the first to hear it, and pulled back to cock her head to listen; interrupting their passion. But Enjolras didn't let her away for long before tilting her chin back to him once more, whispering, "Ignore it." And Lynette—with a quiet laugh—was more than happy to oblige. But they hadn't resumed their kisses for long before the door erupted into a series of frenzied pounds; forcing them to break apart. Enjolras let out a low growl of irritation; but Lynette simply chuckled and ran her hands over his chest—biting back a grin as his heartbeat quickened beneath them. "Go on, it's obviously important." she smiled dazzlingly; rising up off his lap. He got up and looped his arm around her waist all in one motion; pulling her with him as he walked towards the door. She laughed in all of her bell-like glory; lightheartedly saying, "What's the matter? Don't trust that I'll be there when you get back?"

"More like, I don't want to take any chances." he answered teasingly; flashing her a grin. Then he turned to the door and unlocked it, opening it to reveal a messenger. "Monsieur Enjol—oh! F—forgive me; I didn't mean to… er… intrude." the man stuttered as he took in their tousled hair and swelled lips.

"No worries, Mosieur; you interrupted nothing. I am Monsieur Enjolras." Enjolras replied as politely as he could muster in his impatience.

"A letter for you, sir. The dispatcher said it was urgent." the man recited, handing him the folded parchment. Enjolras looked at it in bemusement; for it had nothing written on the outside but a clear inscription of his name. "Might I have the name of the correspondent?" Enjolras inquired.

"I'm sorry sir; he did not say." the messenger replied apologetically.

"That's alright. I'm sure the contents will hold _some _clue. Thank you, good Monsieur." Enjolras replied graciously.

"Indeed. Good day, Monsieur. Er—Mademoiselle." the messenger nodded to them; a slight blush rising to his cheeks.

"It's Madame, actually." Enjolras corrected; warning the other man with his eyes. The latter's flush deepened. "Oh! Do forgive me; you are both just so young and—"

"It's quite alright. Good day."

"Thank you, Monsieur. Good day, Madame Enjolras." the man muttered before scurrying away. Enjolras closed the door, then turned back to Lynette; who was staring up at him in curious entertainment. "Madame?" she questioned.

"Well, I know we're not _officially _married yet, but since we are so close; what's the harm in letting them think that—oh, don't look at me like that. You do realize that I still have every intention of marrying you, correct?"

"Really? You honestly don't think we're moving too fast?" Lynette asked with a touched smile.

"Of course not! I don't feel we're moving fast _enough_." he replied; pushing a few stray hairs away from her face.

"And that is music to my ears after such a rough patch." she sighed happily.

"As is 'Madame Enjolras' to mine." he murmured before pulling her into another kiss. She relished in its warmth for a moment, then pulled away saying, "Now; why don't you open that letter while I get both of us some coffee?"

"Can't that wait?" he asked impishly, placing his hand on the side of her head and stroking her soft, chocolate-colored hair.

"We have all the time in the world for amorous actions; while that letter was labeled 'urgent'." she reminded him before dancing her way out of his embrace and towards the stove.

"One of those times being our wedding night." he teased her, cocking an eyebrow.

"Easy boy; we're not there just yet." she winked wittily at him; secretly leaving him breathless. After a moment of regaining himself, he walked over to the table and sat himself down; breaking the wax and opening the letter. It was not signed, but by the end it was obvious as to who had written it.

I don't know who you think you are, but hear this: if you ever hurt her again, I will find you and I will kill you.

My sister means more to me than you can ever know; so if you so much as look at her cross-eyed, I will risk being imprisoned or killed to hunt you down.

She may have forgiven you, but I haven't.

"Who's it from?" Lynette inquired, snaking her arms around his neck as she leaned down to look over his shoulder. He immediately crumpled it in his fist. "No one of importance." he responded casually. She looked at him accusingly. "This is what got you into trouble in the first place." she prompted him. He sighed, giving in instantly. "Just your brother sending me a little portent."

Her eyes widened. "Oh God; he didn't."

"He did. But you mustn't fret; his worries are for nothing as I hereby vow that I will _never_ hurt you again."

"And you are, as always, a man of your word."

"In nothing else, that I am." he grinned, tilting his head back so that he looked up at her upside-down like a child. She beamed stunningly down at him, then leaned in and gave him exactly the reaction he'd been hoping for. Her elegant fingers stroked his jawline as she kissed him; sending shivers down his spine. But before they could intensify anything; an ear-piercing shriek sliced through the air, making them both jump. "I think the water's finished boiling." Enjolras chuckled, glancing over to the stove.

"Ignore it." she mimicked spiritedly before pulling his face back to hers.

"What happened to 'We have all the time in the world for amorous actions'?" Enjolras retorted jokingly with a parrot of his own. She stood with a hearty laugh, bumping the back of the chair with her hip. "You're terrible."

"Well you _are_ the one who started using the other's words against them." he rejoined. She simply shook her head with a giggle and began walking away in response; shutting off the stove and discontinuing the trenchant noise. He watched her every move demonstratively as she gracefully ground the coffee beans and mixed them into the water; quickly finishing the first cup and moving on to the next. "Do you want any cream in yours?"

"No, I'll just take it black." he muttered right in her ear; wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her to him. Her head snapped around in surprise; and was immediately met with Enjolras's warm, smiling, brown eyes. "You know you could have just told me that from the table." she teased, leaning into him.

"Are you objecting?" he asked puckishly before pressing a kiss to her collarbone. She closed her eyes, trying to keep her heartbeat from quickening. "Not at all. I'm stating another possibility; though I like this one _much _better." she replied.

"As do I. It's just… so _good _to have you home again." Enjolras murmured into her shoulder.

"And it's good to _be _home. I can't believe I ever left it."

~o~0~o~

_I'm standing under a white flag_

_Can you see me oh; can you see me?_

_I'm standing for everything we have so;_

_Can you hear me oh, can you hear me__?  
_

_This is why we do it, this is worth the pain_

_This is why we fall down and get back up again;_

_This is where the heart lies, this is from above_

_Love is this, this is love__…_

**A/N:**** And there ya go. The first DS/E finished! *shoots confetti into the air* **

**I hope everyone liked it… even though I finished it with the fluffy chapter of DEATH. In my defense, I did add SOME angst in there! That over-protective letter from Henry's gotta count for something! **

**By the way, last few "the Script" songs were "The Man Who Can't Be Moved" and "This = Love". Kept forgetting to put the disclaimers in. Oops. Well, I don't own the Script. Or Les Mis. If I did, I might just die of happiness. **

**The next DS/E (Meet the Beauchene's) release date shall be determined with reviews! If you'd be so kind as to shoot me a comment on things you liked, things you'd change, whatever; I'll be so kind as to release it ASAP! Sound like a deal? ;) ~DonJuana**


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